He's With the Band
by OtherLuces
Summary: Tweek is the vocalist for an up and coming band. Craig is a music journalist who is assigned by the magazine he works for to go on tour with the band and land an interview with the semi-reclusive singer. Yet another band/musician AU. Cover art by @kristindoesart on Tumblr.
1. Chapter 1

"And that's why we're super stoked about going on our first North American tour this summer, Chet! We're ready to take that brass ring by the motherfucking balls!"

"Clyde, you dork." Token shook his head, laughing at his longtime friend. "Why would a brass ring even _have_ balls?"

"Shit, I don't know! It sounded cooler in my head!"

"I get the feeling that this interview is basically done, Chet," Token said, looking to the host.

Kenny shook his head, realizing that this interview had completely fallen apart. He folded his arms and slumped back in his chair, his hoodie falling over his eyes as he did. Jimmy leaned forward to get into the center of the camera.

"I p-p-promise, ladies and gentlem-men. Clyde is actualaa~ah...actually a great guitarist, and much c-cooler than this. Usually."

"Hey!" Clyde exclaimed, much to the amusement of his fellow bandmates.

"Alright then, I guess it's time to sign off! I'm sorry that we weren't able to have a live performance today, as promised, but as our outro this episode, here is the first single from their self titled album, on sale June twenty-ninth. Please enjoy Humble Folx's cover of Fleetwood Mac's "The Chain". For Underground Jamz, this has been Chet B!"

The four young men waved at the camera and said goodbye to the unseen viewers at home. After a moment, the host disconnected the webcam from the live stream and leaned back in his chair. His partner, who was currently working the technical side of their Youtube show, began to stream the music video for the song before speaking up.

"From what I could see," the guy explained, "it seems like most of the live comments were asking who and where the lead singer was. It's a shame he had to go to his dad's funeral today."

"Yup. Real shame," Kenny mumbled. Token discreetly elbowed him in the side.

"If we get a lot of hits on the uploaded video," Chet began, "we can schedule another interview some time when Tweek can be with us. Frontmen are what the people want, you know!"

Chet laughed, his enormous smile seemingly taking up half of his face. He stood up and moved over to his partner to look over the rest of the social media feed. Their studio space was small and not at all glamorous, but had the overall feeling that something great could come of it. It was a perfect symbol for Humble Folx's career at that very moment.

They were a band out of Denver. No. They were actually out of South Park, Colorado, but they didn't really like to advertise that. Nothing cool ever came out of South Park, other than the occasional alien abduction, and those were still pretty lame. Regardless, that's where their journey had started. Five guys who grew up with each other since third grade, who all happened to end up with the same dream. Fifteen years later, all of their hard work and ambition was near bearing fruit.

Chet turned back to the four men. He lifted his hands in front of his chest and gave them two big thumbs up. They glanced at each other, not entirely sure what he was supposed to mean by that action. Chet got the hint.

"You're all set, guys. You can head out now. I know you're busy preparing for the tour."

The boys waved goodbye to the two-man crew of Underground Jamz, Youtube's premiere channel for all of your Colorado music scene needs. Their eyes squinted at the extreme difference in brightness as soon as they stepped outside. It had been overcast when they first arrived, and the Underground Jamz studio had poor fluorescent lighting. A cloud of silence had fallen over them since the live stream had ended. As they piled into Token's grey SUV, it finally broke.

"I'm seriously pissed at Tweek for not coming. _Again_ ," Clyde grumbled.

"Please don't tell me that you actually expected him to go to this," Kenny replied from the back seat. He started to drum out a rhythm on the window with his knuckles while aimlessly staring out the window.

"Well...I…" Clyde paused, then sighed. "I was hoping that maybe this time would be different."

"Th-that was your first mistake, my fr-fr-friend," Jimmy said.

He placed his crutches on the seats behind him before buckling himself in. He glanced over at Kenny and nudged his leg. When Kenny finally looked over at him, Jimmy nodded at his seat belt. Kenny rolled his eyes and reluctantly buckled in as well.

"Guys, I gotta keep some hope alive. Shit, what do I even have without that?" asked Clyde.

"A pretty sweet guitar and the skill to use it," Token said as he started the car. "Not to mention a fucking debut record that is about to come out in a few weeks and a tour that will take you across the country. I'd say that's a lot."

Clyde smiled. "Thanks, man. That helps me put things in perspective. Why do you gotta be so damn smart?"

Token laughed through his nose. "Smart, huh? According to my parents, I was quite the idiot for skipping college and thinking we could make this a living. Thank god they came around right before we got the contract offer. My dad sure saved our asses with all that legal bullshit."

"Yeah, remind me to get him a fruit basket or some shit to thank him for that," said Clyde.

Token pulled out onto the road and the four of them headed home to their apartment that they had been sharing together since they left South Park.

Living together had been a major change for all of them. They had started their band in South Park, and that's where they were based for about three years. Clyde had convinced the others that in order to take their band to the next level, they needed to move to a city. Any major city, really, but Denver had been the closest.

Token had moved from the posh lifestyle that he had grown up with—even if he had still been living with his parents. It was a drastic change in standard of living, but he was happy for the independence. For Kenny, sharing a modestly sized apartment with four of his closest friends was a huge upgrade from his family's nearly condemned house that he had lived in his whole life. Clyde and Jimmy had been roommates ever since they graduated high school, mainly because both of their parents had kicked them out, eager to reclaim their empty nest. Moving in with the others wasn't that big of a change for them, except that the dude smell was a lot stronger and much more pervasive.

Tweek had been the only one to live alone previously. He had moved out of his childhood home as soon as he was able, and had been talking about getting away from his parents since junior year of high school. One would think that going from living alone to living with four other people would have been a drastic change for Tweek, but it really hadn't. Tweek tended to spend most of his time alone in his room, rarely coming out, except for meals and band practice. He liked to spend most of his time write lyrics in a quiet room, dimly lit by candles, a strong coffee by his side and a burning cigarette in his hand.

Don't take it the wrong way, though. It's not that he didn't like his bandmates. They were his best friends. However, he had always been an awkward kid, and then had been diagnosed with general anxiety disorder with some paranoid behaviors in his early teens. He had learned to isolate himself from others. It was a habit that he hadn't quite unlearned as an adult, even as he was adequately medication. This was not common behavior for the lead vocalist of an up and coming rock band.

Except that when Tweek got on stage, it was like he became a different person. Gone was the anxious, twitchy, somewhat paranoid young man that was usually presented to the world. Tweek became bold, brash, and engaging. He held crowds in the palm of his hand. He lost all inhibitions when he was performing. Clyde, Token, Jimmy, and Kenny were a solid band unit on their own, but Tweek was the element that gave the band their identity and their life force.

Which, unfortunately for the rest of the band, was why every interviewer always wanted to know why Tweek wasn't present. Lead singers often were the face of the band to the mainstream public, and right now, on the cusp of their first real tour, they were faceless. What could they really say to those who asked why Tweek wasn't there? That he just didn't want to come? That he was afraid that he'd have a panic attack on camera? The truth was something that would hurt their image as a band, so they had begun to create some excuses that sounded believable. They had worked so far, but it was getting to the point where they were starting to wearing thin.

When they finally arrived home, the living room was still empty and dark.

"I guess Tweek never came out of his room then, huh?" said Kenny.

He flopped down onto the couch and turned on the television. He pushed his worn out sneakers off and placed his sock-covered feet onto the coffee table. Token opened his mouth to scold him for it, but closed it before he actually said anything. It was simply an old reflex he had from living with his parents. In his parent's home, feet were never to be placed on the table. In their Denver apartment, almost anything went. As long as the bills were paid, the trash was taken out, and laundry was done in a timely manner, none of them really cared where feet, hands, or even dicks went.

"This fresh pot of coff-f-ffee would say otherw-wise." Jimmy picked up the glass pot and took a whiff of the contents. "Smells strong. I'd h-have a cup, but Tweek would have my h-head."

"I'm still pissed at him," Clyde brooded in the corner. "Like it wasn't even that long of an interview, and right now we really need to build up hype so we can sell these fucking tickets. It feels like he doesn't even care sometimes. I mean, I know he does, but...ugh, sometimes I wish he would just try harder."

"Have you ever actually told him this?" Kenny asked.

"Well...no."

"There's no time like the present, dude." Kenny raised both his hands in the air, sticking his thumbs up. "I say go for it. What's the worst that can happen? Tweek quits the band and we have no vocalist for the tour?"

"Oh shit, no no no! Then we'd either need to hold auditions or I might be forced to sing! And I'm just back-up vocals at best!"

"Then I guess you shouldn't blow it, huh? Good luck, tiger!"

Clyde scowled at Kenny's sarcastic tone. He loved the guy, but sometimes he could be a jerk. He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. It was now or never. Something had to be done about Tweek's absence from the band's tour promoting before it was too late. He pushed his sleeves up his arms and headed toward Tweek's room.

Token chuckled as he sat down next to Kenny on the couch.

"He's cute, thinking that he'd be the one to take over lead vocals," he said, Kenny and Jimmy joining in the laughter.

Clyde knocked on the door in an attempt to be polite. No response. He figured there'd be no response, but he still wanted to give Tweek fair warning that he was about to come in. When he opened the door, the room was even darker than the living room. It would have been near pitch black if it weren't for the few candles that were placed on either side of his bed. Tweek sat cross legged in the middle of the bed, head tilted down, pen cap between his teeth. His still burning cigarette butt sat in his crystal ashtray, giving off a slight glow. Tweek didn't flinch or look up from his spot, even when Clyde closed the door with a fairly loud click.

"So...we're back. Obviously," he awkwardly began.

Tweek didn't answer. He continued to gnaw on the pen cap, deep in thought. Clyde watched him in silence for a moment. Tweek reached a jittery hand out to find his mug of coffee, taking a deep sip once he brought it to his lips. The pen cap somehow managed to stay in his mouth. He quickly placed the mug back on the bedside table and grabbed the pen from his mouth, a noise of excitement cutting through the stagnant air. He furiously scribbled something down in the notebook that sat on his lap. When he was done, he tore the page out. He looked up at Clyde, finally acknowledging his presence, and held it out for him to take.

"Here. New song."

Clyde took it from his hand, not bothering to try to read it in the dim lighting. He folded it up neatly, then stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans, rendering the careful folds worthless.

"Cool. I'll check it out later."

Clyde shifted his weight from foot to foot as he watched Tweek pick up his pack of cigarettes and pull out another one. He knew that he was just procrastinating from the conversation he really didn't want to have, but he rationalized his decision, deciding that it would probably go better once Tweek got some more nicotine into his system.

"So…" Clyde began as Tweek exhaled. "You need to start coming to these interviews, man. Everyone wants to ask you things, to get to know you, and we're running out of excuses. Shit, dude, I've seen some assholes online even saying that you might not be real! That you're just a fucking hologram or something."

Tweek laughed at the comment. "Maybe I am a hologram." He paused, eyes widening as he thought about his words. "Maybe I _am_ a hologram… Wait. Can holograms hold solid objects? Or…is this cigarette also a hologram?"

"Dammit, Tweek! Focus!" Clyde interjected, his voice raising. "I'm serious!"

"You know I can't do interviews, Clyde."

Tweek took another drag off his cigarette and stretched his legs out. He spread them wide enough that his feet hung off either side of the bed. Clyde watched as his face turned to stone.

"It's never gonna happen, so don't waste your breath."

The two men stared at each other, neither flinching. That is, until Tweek flinched. His left eye twitched, as it so often did, and he slipped the cigarette between his lips so that he could grab his pen again.

"That sounds like it could be a lyric," he muttered as he scribbled his previous sentence down.

Clyde let out an irritated sigh. He went to exit, pausing in the open door.

"This isn't over Tweek. We're about to go on the tour that will make or break our career, and I'm not about to let you ruin it for all of us because you're afraid of being interviewed."

He closed the door behind him, leaving Tweek to write down who knows what for lyrics. Tweek wrote constantly. About one third was genius, one third was great after a lot of input and editing from his bandmates, and one third was complete and utter nonsense.

Clyde rubbed his temples. It was time to put his foot down.

* * *

Tweek was still holed up in his room later that night. Clyde returned from a trip downtown. He had left with the reasoning of bringing home some pizza, but that hadn't been the main reason he went out. Once he had placed the pizza boxes on the kitchen counter and squeezed through the hungry stampede of Token, Jimmy, and Kenny, Clyde made a beeline for Tweek's room, large canvas tote in hand.

Tweek yelped when Clyde burst in through his bedroom door, this time without warning.

"Hey, what gives?!" he asked, hand clutched to his chest.

Clyde turned the bag upside down over Tweek's bed and several magazines fell out. Tweek looked up at Clyde and raised his eyebrow.

"Um...thanks? But I don't really read magazines. Too many ads. That amount of marketing manipulation is too much pressure. I can't buy everything!"

"I told you this wasn't over, Tweek. These are all of the music magazines I could find for sale. I also bought pizza."

Tweek's eyes lit up at the mention of pizza. He started to jump up off the bed, but Clyde's large hand easily pushed him back down.

"Clyde, what the fuck?" He glared at his friend, who had an awfully smug look on his face at the moment.

"Ah-ah-ah! You can't have any pizza yet. You need to stay in here and pick someone you're willing to have interview you. I'm not going to continue to waste my time trying to get you to do a filmed interview, but you have to do a written one."

Tweek looked incredulously at Clyde. "You're kidding. Ha ha, very funny, Clyde."

Clyde smiled sweetly. "You'd better get started and hope you find a person you like real fast. That broccoli, onion, and garlic pizza out there with your name on it isn't getting any warmer."

"Nooo! You're a fucking asshole!"

Clyde left the room with a big smile on his face. He could hear Tweek continuing to curse him out through the door.

About an hour later, Tweek finally emerged from his room. He headed directly for his pizza to grab a slice before heading into the living area where the rest of the band was still watching TV. He dropped a folded magazine onto the coffee table.

"There, you fuckhead." Tweek crossed his arms and sneered. "That guy," he said, pointing at the magazine. "I'll let that guy interview me. No one else. Happy now?"

"It's about fu-fu-fucking time," Jimmy mumbled.

"Yes, we're very happy," Clyde grinned. "Who did you pick? Some award winning journalist who's been in the biz for thirty years? Some buzz worthy up and comer?"

The four men leaned forward to get a better look at the magazine. Tweek had drawn a circle with a sharpie around a small blurb in a light purple box. It was so small, in fact, that most people probably wouldn't bother to pay it any attention. At the bottom of the blurb was the author's name.

Kenny scrunched his nose. "Who the fuck is Craig Tucker?"


	2. Chapter 2

Craig put the crook of his arm up to his face and sneezed into his shirt sleeve. He sighed as he reached for a tissue, thinking back to all of the anime and manga he had consumed back in middle school. According to old Japanese superstition, when you sneeze suddenly, it's because someone is talking about you. He had no clue who would be talking about him right now, but whoever it was, he assumed it wasn't something good.

He looked at the time on the bottom of the computer screen. 7:24 PM. Ugh. He was supposed to get off work at five, but here he was, still at his desk. Then again, he wasn't the only one. Tomorrow morning was the deadline for the latest issue of Treble and Bass magazine, or T and B, as the cool kids called it. At least Craig assumed that's what they'd call it if cool people even read magazines anymore. Print sales had been falling steadily each year.

When it was deadline time, the entire staff worked until late to get everything in. Craig had only been a staff member for about a year. Before that, he had worked as an intern for the company straight out of university. Music had always been a passion of his, but he had no musical talent and no motivation to keep practicing until he improved. He did, however, always have a way with words. At least that's what his teachers in high school had told him. That's what led him to majoring in journalism with a minor in music history. His parents had told him it was an awful idea, but he rarely listened to them anyway. He just had dreams of being able to see concerts for free and then being able to critique them in great detail, whether good or bad.

Of course, that's not how things actually worked in the real world. Not at the beginning of one's career, that is. Craig was currently more of a grunt than anything. He helped with research and fact checking sometimes. Other times, he would assist with formatting when a writer was deemed too important to do that themselves. Mostly, though, he did random small tasks around the office. Including coffee runs. Once he became an official staff member, not much had actually changed from when he was an intern.

However, Craig had managed to convince the editor-in-chief to let him write a small blurb every month. No more than two hundred and fifty words. The editor-in-chief cared so little about this blurb, knowing full well that no one would ever read it, that she didn't care what it was about. She probably never read them herself, to be honest.

Craig realized that he could write about whatever the fuck he wanted. At first, he simply wrote about anything in the music industry that he found interesting. However, after writing a few bits about queer musicians or issues facing the industry, he realized that he could use his small featurette as a platform to showcase LBGTQ+ performers. There were few queer voices in print music publications, and as a proudly open gay man, he wanted to change that.

Thus the Queer Spotlight was born.

Craig rubbed the back of his neck. How long had he been sitting in this chair? He had been so involved with all of the other busy work this month that he hadn't gotten around to putting something together for the Queer Spotlight, and now that he was at the deadline, he was panicking. He was stuck with writer's block. The section was only two hundred to two hundred and fifty words, and yet he couldn't even pull something kinda-sorta meaningful out of his ass.

"Hey! Tucker!"

Craig spun around in his chair to find his boss's assistant standing in the doorway. He was always made to do the editor-in-chief's dirty work, which was obviously why he was here right now. Craig never really liked the guy. He was the poster boy for being a kiss-ass.

"What do you want, Cartman?" Craig asked.

"I told you to call me Eric. Cartman doesn't sound professional at all, and someday, I'll be your boss, so you'd better get on my good side."

"Did you only come down here to give me vague threats, or did my _actual_ boss have a message for me?"

Craig knew that being snide was never going to get him far in his career, but it was a habit that he could never break. His mouth had gotten him in trouble more times than he could remember.

Eric grimaced and crossed his arms. "She wants to know if you're finally done with your gay little snippet. She'd like it on her desk by eight, but I'm going to assume by the blank screen behind you that that's not gonna happen."

Craig's shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His air of confidence and assertiveness melted away into concern.

"Yeah, _there_ are your true feelings," Eric said, nodding. "Your worry is just so delicious. But I don't think I could have another serving. I have to check in on everyone else in this entire fucking office, so I can't stay much longer."

He turned to leave, but lingered in the doorway.

"If you want, I can try to get you an extension. I can't promise much, but I can probably get you another hour."

Craig ran his fingers through his ebony locks. They felt greasy and flat. He had forgotten to take a shower the other day in his panic about the deadline. He mentally made a note to take one once he finally got home.

"Yeah, that would help. Why would you bother doing that for me, though?" he asked.

Eric turned back to look at Craig. "I may hate you, and I may hate my boss even more, but I love this magazine. I wouldn't want it to go to print looking like shit. What kind of editor-in-chief would I be someday if I allowed each issue to not be the best damn issue ever? A shitty one. I'm looking for end game, Tucker. And maybe you should, too."

Eric left the room, not bothering to close Craig's door. Craig sighed and stretched in his chair. He decided to assume that he was going to get the hour extension—Eric was quite good at convincing others to do things—and get up to take a break.

He went to the break room to heat up some water. He filed through the handful of tea offerings in the room, scowling when he didn't find one that interested him. All of the tea bags were some green or white tea fruit blend, or what made him even more pissed off, some sort of hipster tea made from flowers or roots.

"Who doesn't offer plain fucking black tea?" he mumbled to himself.

Craig liked the simple things in life. Some people would say that he liked the boring things. Actually, most people would say that. Most of his previous boyfriends ended up leaving him for that very reason. They were all interested in going out every night. They wanted drama. Excitement. Craig wanted to cook some instant ramen and watch shows about cute animals. That was his idea of a great fucking night.

He reluctantly returned to his office with plain black coffee. He wasn't a huge fan, but it got the job done.

7:47 PM. Craig took a quick sip from the coffee, immediately regretting it when it burned his tongue. He tapped his fingers on his cheap wooden desk. He chewed on his lower lip. He noted that his lips were awfully chapped. Seriously, what sort of upstanding gay man is he if he allows his lips to get this bad? Then again, it's not like anyone has been kissing him lately, so why should he really give a shit? He decided to buy some lip balm in the morning anyway. Just in case.

Craig let out a growl of frustration and smashed his keyboard.

"There! There's my Spotlight for the month! I think everyone will be able to relate to this one!" he yelled out to no one.

Craig deleted his frantic string of vowels and consonants, finally admitting defeat. He decided that this month's Queer Spotlight was just going to be some quick mention about Lady Gaga's new movie. That was gay enough, right? He just hoped that readers would be excited enough to read about her some more that they wouldn't notice that the writer had clearly gone through the motions this issue.

* * *

Craig opened the door to his shitty apartment and immediately knew that his roommate had someone over for the night. Thankfully it was only some unknown clothes strewn on the floor that clued him in, and not the foul stench of sex. When you're having sex, the smell just kind of goes with the whole experience. However on its own, when you're tired and lonely, it just may be one of the worst scents known to humankind.

Craig rolled his eyes and closed the door, locking the four deadbolts that decorated it. In this neighborhood, you could never be too cautious. It wasn't his first choice of neighborhoods to live in, but when you're young and trying to make it living in New York City, you have to make some sacrifices. Craig's biggest sacrifice was living in the most affordable neighborhood, which also happened to have the highest crime rate per capita. He often kicked himself for not trying to find a place just outside of the city—maybe in New Jersey—and commute in. He kicked himself for letting his roommate make most of the decisions in regards to location. He usually didn't want to get involved with anything major, but he realized about a week later that maybe he should have been involved in that _one_ thing.

He went into his room and flopped face first onto his bed. He had managed to get his awful entry in on time, thanks to the extension Cartman secured for him. He still didn't feel _proud_ of what he wrote. It had felt more like something you'd find in People magazine, and Craig typically held himself to high standards. Whatever. It was over. Next week was when work on the new issue began. A fresh start.

Craig narrowed his eyes. What was that faint squeaking sound? Was it getting louder?

Oh fuck. His roommate was going in for round two. Or seven. Who knows how long they'd been here before Craig got home. _Fucking Stan_. He knew that tonight was Craig's deadline. Did he _have_ to bring home some new plaything tonight? Craig rolled over in bed and covered his head with his pillow. The squeaking got louder, and was now accompanied by the bed banging against the wall and moaning.

Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Times like this made him feel very lonely, and—as much as he didn't like to admit it—very horny. Craig picked up his phone and swiped the screen. He opened up his Facebook app and headed straight to one page in particular. That of his most recent ex.

Craig felt like he should be over Thomas by now. It had been almost a year since they had broken up. In his defense, they had been together for three years, and things had gotten serious to the point of discussing the idea of marriage. They had met in college while doing laundry in the dorm basement, and had nearly instant chemistry. Maybe that's what was their eventual downfall? That they had too much in common? That they were too much of a good thing? Craig liked to tell himself that, but really it was that they drifted apart once they had graduated and entered the working world. Both of them worked too many hours trying to establish themselves in their careers, and their schedules rarely synched up. Eventually Thomas was the one who suggested that they move on. That he didn't regret the happy years he spent with Craig, but at this point they were treading water with no land in sight. Craig's often flat affect when things got emotional stayed just that, even as the person he loved most was breaking up with him. He just nodded and agreed. He didn't try to put up a fight for their relationship. That was probably what he regretted most. He still believed that if he had tried to show how much he cared about him and their relationship, Thomas may have stayed.

But that's not how things happened. So now Craig was once again stalking Thomas's page. It looked like he had finally moved on, assuming that the profile picture of him kissing another man on some unfamiliar beach was any indication.

Craig closed the app and opened his stash of photos on his phone. He scrolled through until he found the special ones he had taken of Thomas on their second anniversary. He shoved his hand down his pants and whimpered when he wrapped his hands around his aching cock. He hadn't been with anyone other than his hand since the break-up. Fuck, he craved the feeling of another person, but he just couldn't get himself to go out to any bars or clubs. He sure as shit wasn't about to join Grindr or some other hook-up app pretending to be a dating app.

He stroked himself slowly at first, gazing at the beautiful naked form of his ex. Once he realized that he wasn't going to last very long, what with the photo plus the loud sex sounds in the other room, he gripped his cock tighter and stroked faster. He finally came. He covered his mouth with his free hand to muffle the long groan he let out.

He wiped his hands on his pants and dropped his phone on the floor. A normal person would have gotten out of bed to clean up in the bathroom. Craig never did whenever he jerked off to photos of Thomas. He was always so wrought by guilt that he could never look himself in the mirror afterward. He soon fell asleep; that guilty feeling, his blanket.

* * *

A week later, Craig was busy loading a new toner cartridge into the floor printer when Cartman found him.

"Hey, Tucker! Can I see you for a minute?"

"Can't you see I'm busy, Cartman?" he said, flatly.

"I _told_ you to call me Eric!" He sighed and continued. "I can see that you're really busy," he said, his voice drenched with sarcasm, "but I'm pretty damn sure you're going to want to hear what I have to say."

"Ugh, fine. Give me five minutes to finish this stupid errand they gave me and I'll come by your office. Okay?"

Craig soon found himself sitting across from Eric in an office that was, unsurprisingly, nicer than his own. The difference in power was made obvious by Eric's choices in seating. He sat in a large, probably second-hand, but nevertheless nice leather chair. Craig, however, sat in a plain wooden chair.

"Craig, I invited you in here to discuss the opportunity of a lifetime."

"I don't give a shit about any of your get rich quick schemes, Eric," Craig interrupted.

"Will you let me finish my damn pitch? This has nothing to do with those." He sighed and folded his hands together. "This morning, the editor-in-chief got a call from the manager of some up and coming band out of Denver. I think they're called Humble Folx or some shit."

Craig raised an eyebrow. "Humble Folx? You're making that up."

"Nope. That's _actually_ their name. They have a song on the radio right now. A cover of 'The Chain'."

"I think I might have heard it once or twice. Didn't know the band name."

"Anyway," Cartman continued, "word around the internet is that the lead singer has never done an interview. Anytime the band has been interviewed, he's nowhere to be found. They usually have some bullshit excuse, or say that he's trying to maintain an air of mystery. Ugh. Well, apparently this guy has finally decided that he's willing to do an interview."

"That's cool for him. What does this have to do with me, though?" Craig asked.

"It turns out that he has requested you to interview him."

Craig stared at Eric. This made no sense. How does anyone even know who he is? Sure, he knew he had some fans of his writing, at least according to the couple hundred followers he had on Twitter who weren't bots. Still, none of those people were signed performers. And why would this guy want him over any other music journalist? He sounded like an idiot. He could turn this into some sort of bidding war and make a good chunk of change. The person to nab the elusive interview of a hot young artist. It could help make the band's career if they got someone really famous to interview him.

"You're fucking with me," Craig finally replied.

"I can assure you that I most definitely am not. And you know how rarely I say that," said Eric.

"Why me?" Craig asked.

"I'm also still trying to wrap my head around that, but according to their manager, he read one of your gay strobelight things and liked it."

"It's Queer Spotlight, dick."

"Whatever. I overheard the conversation because the idiot-in-chief puts every call on speaker. She was going to say no to their proposition, but I ran in and managed to convince her otherwise. She said fine, but that I was in charge of the whole thing so that she didn't have to deal with it. This is my chance, Tucker. My first real big break!"

Eric's eyes beamed with hope.

"Wouldn't this also be my chance at a big break?" asked Craig.

"Yeah, yeah, I guess. So are you in?"

"Yeah, of course. What does this include? Do I have to go to Denver or are they going to stop in New York during their tour?"

Eric smiled confidently. "Both, technically. They are stopping in New York during the tour, but you still need to go to Denver. You're going to go on tour with them."

"Wait, what? Why do I have to do that for one fucking interview?!" Craig gripped at the arms of the chair, scratching his fingernails on the lacquered wood.

"It was part of the negotiation. Instead of just one interview, you're going to go with them and create a diary of sorts for their tour. It will be exclusive to our website to try to create some buzz. They're going to advertise it on their tour so that fans will go to our site, and people who are fans of us will get to know them. It's a win-win. Finally, at the end of the tour, you'll write a full interview for the magazine. It's a brilliant plan, Craig. And it's all mine."

"And you never thought that you should ask _me_ about this first?"

"I'm asking you now, aren't I?"

Craig rubbed his face with his hands and groaned. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. He just really wished that it hadn't been sprung up on him like this. He didn't exactly _like_ surprises. Even so, he knew the answer he had to give.

"So when do I leave?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey Tweek? Do you think your parents coming tomorrow night?" Token asked from the kitchen.

Tweek checked the time on his phone. Five more minutes to process and then it was time to hop into the shower.

"Please, like my parents even remember I exist. Remember, they were pretty fucking neglectful. Not in the 'forgetting to feed my kid' or 'not bringing my child to the doctor' way, but in the never really fully acknowledging me as a person way. Pretty sure as soon as I moved out and they didn't have to see me every day, they thought that they'd spent the past eighteen years raising a child named Tweak Bros Coffee. Honestly, we're all happier this way."

He adjusted the towel around his neck. It had been a while since he had last dyed his hair, and he needed it to be fresh for tomorrow's event. He had decided to go with an electric green, leaving the color off of one small portion of his natural blond as a sort of highlight. He figured if it ended up looking like shit, he could just dye the whole thing later.

"That seriously sucks, dude. Fuck your parents," Token replied. He was quiet for a moment before speaking again. "My folks said they'd be there, but I'm not sure if I want them to come."

"Why?" Tweek asked, peeking his head out of the bathroom.

"Think about it. This is our last show at our home base, so to say. It's gonna get pretty wild. On top of that, it's doubling as our album release party. People are going to be wasted and you know there will be a whole lot of titties hanging out."

"Maybe even a few dicks, hehe," Kenny interjected. He poked his head into the bathroom to grab his hairbrush. "I'm going to have _such_ a good time." His smile went from ear to ear. "I've even prepared for this momentous occasion."

"Let me guess. Condoms and lube?" Tweek said, rolling his eyes.

"You know me so well, babe," Kenny grinned, leaning in to plant a kiss on Tweek's cheek.

Tweek playfully pushed him away. "Get the fuck out of here, man!" he laughed.

"I'm just getting ready to practice safe sex, my friend. And don't act all high and mighty with me. Like _you_ don't plan on getting laid tomorrow."

A small smile appeared on Tweek's face. "Maybe. If the right person comes along."

"So someone with a pulse," said Token.

"Fuck you! I'm not some random slut like Kenny!"

Tweek's cheeks grew red. Whether this was from anger, embarrassment, or a combination of both was unknown.

"All of Colorado knows I'm slutty, but we're talking about _your_ sluttiness," Kenny replied.

"Are you guys talking about how much of a slut Tweek is?" Clyde chimed as he came out of his room.

By now, Tweek's ears were bright red. "Fuck all of you!" he screeched, disappearing back into the bathroom.

"That's our point exactly!" Kenny grinned.

Tweek slammed the door shut, drowning out the raucous laughter of his friends.

* * *

Craig stood at his bed, going over everything he had laid out to be packed. He wasn't sure how many clothes he should bring. Enough for one week, he figured, although he had no idea when or where he'd be able to do laundry. That was something that had not been covered when Cartman had gone over the logistics of the trip. Craig figured he'd be able to sneak off to a laundromat for a few hours at least once a week. Right? It's not like he had to be with these guys at every waking moment. He was there to get to know them, to interview them, not to babysit them.

Once he was certain that he had everything ready to go, he opened the luggage set that his roommate, Stan, had bought him. It was a combination congratulations and good luck gift after Craig had told him about the opportunity he was being given. Craig had tried to refuse it, as it was pretty good luggage and he didn't like people spending a lot of money on him, but Stan had insisted.

"So are you heading out tonight or in the morning?"

Craig looked over his shoulder to see Stan standing in the doorway.

"Hey. Tomorrow morning. By the way, thanks again for the luggage. You didn't need to, but it was really helpful," he said.

"Of course I had to!" said Stan.

He entered the room and stood next to Craig, watching as he folded his clothes and placed them neatly inside the largest suitcase.

"This is a really big fucking deal, and you'll want to make a good first impression with these rich band guys. If you walked up with those ratty ass old duffel bags you were going to use, they'd probably have eaten you alive."

"Heh," Craig said softly. "I don't know if some rocker dudes are going to give a shit what my luggage looks like, but I appreciate the sentiment." He glanced over his shoulder at Stan once more. "By the way, can you take care of Floof while I'm gone? I left instructions for her care on the fridge."

"Of course, dude. I'm pretty sure you'd murder me as slowly and painfully as possible if I allowed anything to happen to your guinea pig princess."

Craig nodded slowly, humming to himself while he double checked the number of sock pairs he was bringing. Stan stood quietly to the side, watching him, shifting weight from foot to foot. Craig could feel the anxiety coming off of him and it pissed him off.

"Dude, whatever it is you want to say, just fucking say it already. I'm getting contact anxiety from you standing there," he said.

"Umm...so...you're going to be gone for awhile, right,? And I've only been dating Kyle for a few weeks, but…" Stan mumbled.

"You wanna know if he can sleep over while I'm gone. Is that it?"

Craig turned to face Stan directly. He was staring at his feet, blushing, his eyes open wide and excited.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes."

"I know we've only been together a few weeks, but he seems like the real deal. I think…" Stan hesitated, wondering if he should say his thought out loud. "I think I might be in love with him, Craig."

Craig sighed and closed his suitcase. It was a bit overstuffed, so he leaned his weight down onto it so he could zip it up with ease.

"It's not love. You're just feeling new relationship energy. It's not realistically possible to love someone in that short a time."

Stan was silent. Craig was afraid to look over at him. This wasn't the first time that Craig had criticized Stan for falling in love too quickly with people who weren't right for him. Back then, however, Craig had been in a long term relationship and was the so-called expert. He braced himself, just waiting for Stan to say something snide about Thomas, or about how Craig hasn't even hooked up with anyone since then, so what does _he_ know about love or new relationships?

"Damn, remind me to never tell you shit," Stan finally answered with a chuckle.

Craig let out a sigh of relief. He felt as though he'd dodged a bullet. Stan probably held back, for his sake, since he was about to leave for two months.

"Look," Craig said, giving in. "I'm fine with him sleeping over while I'm away. Just...no sex in my room, okay? I really don't want to come home to a bed full of DNA that isn't mine."

"Scout's honor," Stan said, holding up his index and middle fingers together. "And thanks, dude."

"Welcome," Craig muttered.

Once Stan left, Craig pulled out his phone and opened up _that_ photo of Thomas. Ten minutes later, while he was cleaning up from yet another shameful masturbation session, he looked at himself in the mirror. He was a conventionally attractive guy. He could easily find someone to fuck, if he wanted. Yet the inability to let go of his longest and most recent relationship was holding him back. He rubbed his hands over his face before slamming them down on the bathroom sink, startling Floof in her pen. He had decided.

By the end of the summer, he was going to finally let go of Thomas.

* * *

This whole trip didn't feel real to Craig until he was finally up in the air. Not while packing. Not while on the way to the airport. Not even while boarding the plane. He had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that Cartman was going to jump out behind something and shout _"gotcha!"_ But that didn't happen, and the likelihood that Cartman would buy his own ticket to Denver just to prank Craig on the plane or at his hotel was pretty slim.

This _was_ real. The clouds underneath the plan outside his window were proof of that. So was the flash drive with Humble Folx's soon-to-be released album on it. Craig had received it once the plans for him to travel with the band had been finalized. It had been in his possession for a while now, but he hadn't listened to it yet. He had wanted to wait until he was on the plane to Denver. Craig knew himself well, and he knew that he was just enough of a self-sabotager to go back on the offer if he thought the band sucked. Most people would just deal with music they didn't like for two months for the career boost, but Craig would rather continue to tread water than be forced to listen to crap for two months.

He opened his Surface Pro and inserted the flash drive. He popped his earbuds in, let his chair recline back the two inches given in coach, and hit play.

Humble Folx was...okay. From one listen all the way through, they didn't sound like anything special. They weren't bad. Not at all. They were solid, but Craig wasn't blown away. He felt like he had heard this before, but better. After a second listen from beginning to end, his feelings were unchanged.

He felt most disappointed with the band's first single, a cover of Fleetwood Mac's "The Chain". He had caught it once or twice on a grocery store's radio station, but he had never actually had a close listen. Going over it now, it was a solid enough cover. They didn't butcher the song...but they also didn't give it any new life. When a band covers a song, they should leave a piece of themselves with it. Make it _unique_. Make it _their own_. Humble Folx's version of "The Chain" sounded like the same song, just louder, a little heavier, and without female vocals.

Craig wasn't hired to review music, but in his opinion, this band was a flash in the pan, and honestly, kinda boring. Craig only liked boring in his personal life. Not in his music. He groaned and thumped his head against the airplane window. Two months of this shit. He would have to keep reminding himself that it was all for the interview.

The plane landed safely, and Craig was shocked that he didn't have to wait until the end of time for his luggage to show up on the baggage carousel. He arrived at his hotel surprisingly early, and hardly took any time to get settled. He checked his phone. 7:02 PM. He was feeling a bit tired, as it would be just after nine back at home, but he felt it was too early to turn in for the night. After flipping through every channel in the hotel's cable package, Craig decided to go out for once.

He found a place to eat dinner, and immediately started to miss the food of New York City. Not that he was able to eat out very often. When he did, it wasn't particularly fancy, either. Still, he was unsure if what he was putting in his mouth right now could legally be called pizza.

When he was finished, he took a walk around the blocks surrounding his hotel. Denver seemed to be nice enough, from what he could see. It was definitely quieter than back home. One would think that would be something that Craig would have liked, but in all honesty, he missed the noise. The noise was familiar and comforting. The quieter atmosphere here only reminded him that he wasn't at home.

Craig turned a corner and almost walked into a street light. He stopped quickly, avoiding collision, and found himself face to face with a crudely drawn poster.

 _Humble Folx final show_

 _before they go on tour!_

 _9 PM at The Hideout_

 _Tickets at the door_

How convenient. He certainly knew what he was doing tonight. Craig tore the flyer down off the pole and stuffed it into his pocket. What was the harm of watching the band perform before he officially met them?

* * *

"How many people are out there, Jimmy?" Clyde asked.

Ever since their first performance, Clyde had asked one of his bandmates how many people were in the audience. His hands balled into fists under his chin, his eyes wide with wonder. His right leg was bouncing with pent-up energy. He looked like a little boy wanting to know how many presents were under the tree at Christmas.

"Uhh...I c-can't really count all of th-them," said Jimmy, peeking out from the stage entrance. "Mayb-b-be...two hundred?"

"Oh shit, that's a lot! I'm so nervous!" Clyde's fists trembled under his chin, but his excited, expressive eyes told a different story.

"You're such a dork, man. You _do_ realize that starting this weekend, we'll be performing in front of thousands, not hundreds," Kenny chimed in. He twirled his drumsticks between his fingers, warming them up for the show.

"Hey, are you guys ready?" The owner of the club popped in, startling Clyde.

"Yeah, just about," Kenny nodded.

The owner looked around the small green room. "Where's Tweek?"

"He's outside getting one last smoke in," replied Token. When the owner gave him an impatient look, Token put down his bass and stood up. "I'll go get him. We'll be on in five, okay?"

* * *

Token opened up the door to the alley behind the club. Tweek was leaning against the dirty brick wall, smoking billowing up above his head.

"We're on, dude," said Token.

"Yeah…be there in a minute," Tweek replied through an exhale of smoke.

All of Tweek's anxieties tended to amplify the hour before he went on stage. Performing on stage was what he lived for, yet he still ended up having serious stage fright. It wasn't uncommon for Token to be the one to find him and coax him toward the stage.

"Did you take your meds this morning?"

Tweek gave Token a look that said _are you fucking kidding me?_ He held up what he'd been smoking so that Token could have a better look. It was a joint, and not his usually cigarette.

"Yup," Tweek answered.

Token rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean, asshole. You're _other_ meds. The ones that will affect all of us if you suddenly _stop_ taking them."

"What, are you the fucking mom character in the story of my life? _Christ_ , Token." Tweek took one last large drag to finish off his joint. "Yes. I took them. You know I've been taking them responsibly for over a year."

"And you know I've been asking you every damn day for over a year. It's our routine."

Tweek snickered and smirked. "That it is. Just like you being the one to convince me to head to the stage. Every time. Goddammit, why does my brain have to actively work against itself?"

"If I had gone to college, maybe I could have found a way to permanently cure mental illness."

"Yeah, fuck you for not using that huge ass brain of yours and slumming it with the rest of us all these years," Tweek laughed.

"Well, we're not slumming it anymore, are we?"

Tweek smiled. "Nope. Alright let's do this."

* * *

Craig took a small sip of his martini. He wasn't quite sure why he had ordered it. He wasn't really a fan of martinis, but it just felt right at the time. The club had a two drink minimum, so he was cornered into drinking, but thankfully the prices weren't as steep as back home. The martini made him feel fancy when everything around him made him feel anything but. The Hideout was an older, grimy sort of music club. He was a bit surprised that a band about to go on a brand new tour with a fresh coat of polish would be performing in this sort of venue. He didn't bother overthinking it. He swirled the alcohol around in his glass, waiting for the show to begin.

The lights dimmed in the large room to the vocal delight of the crowd gathered around the small stage. After a moment, a single acoustic guitar began to play the opening bars of "The Chain". That caused Craig's ears to perk up. That hadn't actually been a part of their studio version. A small spotlight slowly faded in on the guitarist sitting on a stool. The bass drum then came in, quietly. They played together for about a minute, then stopped. The lights went out. Silence. The crowd went crazy. The small spotlight then focused in on the lead singer. He cupped the microphone lovingly in his hand and began to sing the opening lines of the song, a cappella.

Craig adjusted in his seat. The vocals were so haunting here. Nothing like on the album. Fuck, why hadn't they done _this_ with the studio recorded version? It was so beautiful. His voice was soft, almost fragile sounding. When he reached the chorus, the full stage lights came on and the rest of the band joined in, with the guitarist having switched from acoustic to electric. The crowd went wild once more.

When the song reached the instrumental solos, the bassist was given plenty of time to improvise on top of the iconic bass line before the guitarist came in with his own jam session. In the meantime, the singer ran around on the stage, overflowing with energy. How could this be the guy who was supposedly a recluse? _This guy?_ The one who is thrashing around the stage? The one who just jumped down into the crowd to dance with the fans? The one who's singing the outro while still in the audience and holding the mic up for fans to sing along? There must be some mistake.

Craig ordered another martini, feeling like he might need it if the show continued like this. The band performed a couple more songs from the album. They sounded closer to the studio versions, but the energy was much different. This was definitely a band that needed to be seen live. Craig wondered why they weren't able to channel this energy in the studio. He took out his phone and opened up a note-taking app so that he could jot down that question to ask them later.

"Hey Hideout, how are you feeling tonight?" said the vocalist, finally addressing the crowd.

"We love you, Tweek!" a rabid fan shouted from the floor.

"I love you, too. Why don't you come see me after the show," he winked and laughed. "You know…" he continued, running a hand through his messy green hair, "...with all of the love I'm feeling in here tonight...it's making me a little hot. What about you guys?"

The crowd whooped in response.

"When it gets this hot, I think that means it's time for a little ditty that you all know and love. This next one we had to call "Metaphor" on the album because the label wouldn't let us use the original. But you guys know its _true_ name."

The bassist started playing the opening riff and the crowd roared.

"Let me hear it, now!" Tweek yelled, pointing the mic at the audience.

"'This Song is About Fucking!'" they yelled in unison.

Craig nearly did a spit take. He had heard the song on the album, but was not aware of its original name.

"That's right," he grinned.

Tweek grabbed his t-shirt by the bottom hem and pulled it up over his head with both hands, tossing it at the fan who he acknowledged earlier. He then dove into the song, which was just as filthy as the original song title would imply, but not exactly _explicit_ in its lyrics. Like the new title suggested, the lyrics were all fairly clever metaphors for sex.

Craig took a long sip of his drink and shook his head, feeling the alcohol starting to hit him. He looked back at the stage and watched as Tweek was moving around the stage while he sang. His body slinked about the stage, slender hips rolling here and there. The fans were eating it up, waving singles at him like he was a stripper. At one point, he slid his hand down his bare chest to his groin. He cupped his hand around it, then stroked his hand down his left thigh and squeezed what was supposedly his dick. A sober Craig would have scoffed at such a blatant move. It was obviously just to get a reaction from the crowd, which it did, but Craig found the sexual tactic tired and overdone. The tipsy, perpetually horny Craig who was watching the performance, however, became _very_ turned on.

He leaned his elbow onto the bar and bit his finger as he gawked at the performance. He watched Tweek, mesmerized. He spotted a small tattoo on his right shoulder blade, but he couldn't make out what it was. Also, were those nipple piercings? Either Tweek had piercings or his nipples were particularly shiny. Craig felt a sudden desire to know what those piercings felt like, and whether Tweek had any other ones he couldn't see right now.

Craig blinked rapidly several times in succession. _Woah._ The alcohol was clearly getting to him. It wasn't like him to drool over random shirtless dudes. Or piercings. He wasn't even particularly attracted to piercings. Yet here he was, contemplating the sounds that this guy makes when they're played with. _Fuck_ , he was horny.

Obviously this had been a poor decision, coming out to a club that had a drink minimum. If Craig had been sober, he would've been able to keep his base urges under control.

The song mercifully ended, freeing Craig from his hormone fueled thoughts. He felt his cheeks grow hot. Thank goodness that he didn't know anyone here, or this would've all been much more embarrassing.

It was shortly after eleven that Tweek announced that this was their final song.

"Thank you fuckers for coming out tonight and partying with us. We've got one more song for you, but don't go thinking the night's over yet. You motherfuckers have always been so supportive and you got us to where we are today. So to show our thanks, they're locking up early for the night and we have the bar till sunrise, so please stay with us for the Humble Folx album release party!"

The crowd roared in approval.

"Even you, boring guy sitting over at the bar drinking fucking dry-ass martinis all night," Tweek continued, pointing directly at Craig.

Craig looked up from his drink and locked eyes with Tweek on stage. He was smiling at him, and Craig felt a faint chill run up his spine.

"Yeah, _you_ , dude! Even you should stay!"

Craig raised his glass in response and took a sip. Tweek continued to speak to the crowd in general for a moment before they transitioned into the final song. Craig barely paid attention to it. Instead he debated with himself about whether he should stay for just one more drink, or whether he should go back to the hotel for the night. On one hand, he could maybe get to talk to some of the band members in a candid way before everything became about promotion and their public image. On the other hand, he was scheduled to meet up with the band at 8 AM the next day. He wanted to be professional and well-rested on his first day, even if he knew the band wouldn't be. He also didn't want to risk having a raging hard on when he first introduced himself.

Craig decided to ask the bartender for a tall glass of water and to sit for a while as he waited to sober up a bit. It was the wise adult choice. Some would say the boring choice, but that was fine by him.

Craig was soon swallowed up by the mass of people who surrounded him, vying for the bartender's attention. At least half of the people in attendance ran over to get drinks as soon as Humble Folx left the stage. Craig could hear a stage crew breaking down the drum kit and clearing off the amps and other electronics, but he couldn't see them through the people. For a moment, Craig actually felt like he was drowning. He quickly drank down the remainder of his water and placed a five dollar tip under the glass.

Craig struggled to fight his way out of the crowd. Sweaty bodies of people hopped up on the adrenaline rush from a concert and who knows what else, sandwiched together in a tight space. This was what Craig hated. He always stayed in his seat at the end of concerts. He waited until the crowds had thinned out. During a concert, crowds were fun. A part of the show. After the concert was over, they were just nuisances.

He finally squeezed his way out. He gasped in the fresh air, glad to be out of the body odor zone. He scanned the room, searching for the location of the bathroom. He thought about waiting until he returned to his hotel, but the alcohol was moving through his system quickly, and there was a good chance that he'd get lost on the way back.

He saw some of the members of the band schmoozing with fans. The guitarist was holding court in the center of the room. It looked as though he would never stop talking, but those around him were hanging in his every word, letting out laughter here and there. Craig thought he saw the keyboardist over in a darkened corner with a woman in his lap, but he didn't get a good look. He did get a good look at the drummer with his face inches away from some woman's bare breasts as he signed his name on them. The huge grin on both parties faces made Craig roll his eyes.

He finally saw the sign for the bathroom on the other side of the club. He made his way toward the sign, happy to have a moment of peace once he was finally inside.

Craig made a beeline for the urinal, unzipping his pants and emptying his bladder. He let out a soft moan as he felt the relief. Somehow, the moan seemed to continue even after he closed his mouth. Craig had thought that he was alone in the bathroom, but clearly he was wrong. He quickly shook himself off and tucked himself back into his trousers.

Craig quietly moved over to the stalls. He knew he should just leave, but his liquor-soaked brain was curious as to the source of the noise. He walked down the row of stalls toward the accessible one, not finding anyone in the smaller ones. He swallowed hard and peered into the final stall.

The lead singer of the band had his back pressed against the wall, and he had what appeared to be a woman on her knees in front of him. His black skinny jeans were pushed down around his thighs. His shirt was still off, and Craig realized that the woman was wearing it. She must be the fan who Tweek said should "see see him after the show". Craig had thought it was a joke. A flirty nod to a fan, but not serious.

Tweek's eyes were shut, his lips slightly parted. His hands pressed against the wall behind him like they were searching for something to grab onto. That same soft moan rumbled from his throat. He looked quite beautiful. Angelic, almost, in his pleasure. Craig wasn't into watching straight sex acts, obviously, but he was so hard up that even this was causing his cock to stir. He so badly wanted to be in one of their positions. Either one was fine. He so craved his dick in a mouth _and_ his mouth on a dick.

His breathing grew heavier and louder. His pulse quickened. He knew he should leave. He wasn't meant to see this. But his feet were lead and he couldn't pull himself away. His eyes were transfixed on Tweek's pelvic muscles, faintly defined and flexing ever so slightly.

Craig's gaze moved back up to Tweek's face, only for him to realize that Tweek was staring at him. Their eyes locked and Tweek's lips slowly spread into a smile. They stared awkwardly at each other for what felt like forever, before Tweek let his eyes roll back in his head, grin still planted firmly on his face.

Craig felt his stomach drop. That was enough to pull him out of this horny hypnosis. He turned on his heel and hurried out the door.

The walk back was equally uncomfortable. Craig walked as fast as he could to his hotel, surprised that he was able to find his way back without taking a wrong turn. He could feel his sensitive cock rubbing against his underwear with each step. It drove him crazy.

Back at the hotel, he took a cold shower to sober himself up and help with his growing problem. Afterward, he lied in bed, unable to sleep. He just couldn't get that image out of his head. Try as he might to think of something else, everything came back to the blowjob. Craig groaned in frustration once he was at full mast again, finally giving in. He spit in his hand and wrapped his long fingers around his dick. He thrust up into his hand, only needing a couple minutes to reach climax.

Afterward, he felt that same pang of guilt that he felt after fantasizing about Thomas. He was going to be spending two months traveling with this Tweek guy and his friends. This was not the way to start the trip. Craig fell asleep with one thought lingering in his mind.

Tomorrow morning was going to be weird.


	4. Chapter 4

Craig winced at the sound of his alarm going off. It sounded like a dozen horns blaring directly into his ears. At least that's how he perceived it. He shielded his eyes from the light that was already spilling into the room. He sighed, knowing that he couldn't ignore the alarm, and rolled out of bed.

He stood in his underwear for about ten minutes, simply going back and forth on whether or not he should shower again. His shame got the best of him. He didn't want to risk anyone being able to catch the lingering scent of his late night jerking session. That would be an awful way to start what is essentially his first day of work.

Thankfully, this hotel offered plain black tea as well as the hipster flavors. He grabbed a muffin while his tea was steeping. He bit into it, thinking it was going to be a banana nut muffin, only to immediately spit it back out into the trash once he discovered it was actually bran. What was with these hotels? Did they actually think anyone wanted a bite of chewy sawdust in the morning? Was it really _that_ important than business people stay regular?

He sighed, disappointed, and opened up a navigation app to enter the address where he was supposed to meet the band. The address just looked like someone's apartment, which made Craig curious. Where exactly would they be fitting this tour bus on a residential road?

Craig found his answer at 8 AM on the dot. He stood in front of the large tour bus that had completely blocked the left side of the street. A smaller van was parked in front of it. The van had a wrap-around on it that had the silhouette of each band member and "Humble Folx 2018 Tour" scrolled across in silver writing. Craig was quite pleased with how it looked. He had assumed it would be some gaudy monstrosity that he'd be embarrassed to be seen near.

He spotted a young woman with ebony hair talking to someone through a bluetooth earpiece. He assumed this, as there was no one near her while her mouth rapidly moved. She had a tablet in her hand, seemingly running down a final checklist. He realized that she obviously must be the band's road manager, and the woman he was scheduled to meet. Craig looked around and couldn't find the rest of the band anywhere. He was unsure why she requested him to arrive so early, but he figured she had a reason.

He approached her silently, hands in his khaki pockets, and stood patiently until she noticed him.

"Oh! Hi! You must be Craig, right?" she exclaimed, holding out her hand.

Craig followed through, taking her hand in his. "And you must be…Wendy, right?"

She had a firm, confident handshake. Craig had just met her and he could already tell that she was head bitch in charge. It made him feel at ease.

"Give me one sec," she added. "The journalist who's shadowing us just got here, Leo, so I'm gonna have to let you go. Once everything is loaded and the rest of the road crew is accounted for, you guys can head out, okay? See you later."

She pressed a button on her earpiece and turned back to Craig.

"How was the plane ride here?" she asked. "I know JFK can be a nightmare, especially at this time of year."

"It wasn't too bad. I made it okay." Craig stared at her, the mood between them growing uncomfortable. He just wasn't quite sure what to say next. He generally wasn't one for small talk this early in the morning.

"Alright, well, let's get started by looking over the final plan."

Wendy pulled a stylus out from her shirt pocket. After a series of clicks, she moved closer to Craig to show him the screen.

"So we have a really busy schedule ahead of us. The tour is taking place over fifty-seven days and we have forty cities to cover."

"That seems like a lot for a newer band," said Craig.

"It's precisely because we're a newer band. I want the boys to get out there and spread their music as far as they can. If the tour goes well, it will help the album sales, and help establish them on the mainstream scene."

"You're not afraid of burnout? Have they toured this intensely before?"

"Well...no. But I've taken that into consideration! I have several plans in place to keep them hydrated and healthy along the way. I have a degree in music management and marketing from Berklee. I got things under control."

Craig pursed his lips. He wanted to trust Wendy's judgement, but he was a little worried about her optimistic attitude. It's not like he himself had been on tour before, but he had read so many accounts of young bands biting off more than they could chew and becoming exhausted before their tours were finished. Canceling dates was not good for public image.

"Now onto hotel arrangements," Wendy continued. "Um, unfortunately the hotels were booked well in advance, before you were brought on. I tried to book an extra room for you, but everyone is booked solid. Luckily, with a five member band, one of the rooms has an extra bed. You don't mind rooming with one of the guys, do you?"

"Nah, that's fine. It'll help me get to know them, I guess. It'll definitely give me something to write about for that daily diary thing."

"Yes. About that. You'll be helping us with promotion a lot by posting those every day. I hope it goes without saying that it is to be professional and not trashy, but still be fun and get people hyped about the tour."

"Of course. I'm not fucking TMZ," Craig replied.

Wendy paused, deciding to ignore Craig's foul language. "Also I'm going to need you to send out at least three tweets a day. Social media is so important for new bands to make their mark."

"Uh...yeah I could do that, but I think it's important for you to know that I only have maybe two hundred followers. Three hundred, tops. I don't have much of a presence on Twitter."

"Hmm. Well, any promotion is good promotion. And I'll have the boys tweet at you to help get your numbers up."

"Hey, speaking of which, where are they? I thought they'd be here already?"

Wendy sighed. "I'm not surprised. I usually tell them to be at gigs an hour ahead of when I really need them there." She stared off into the middle distance. "Sometimes it feels like I'm their tour mom, not their tour manager. They're lucky we went to school together, or I wouldn't put up with nearly as much as I do."

Some raucous laughter was heard coming out of the building in front of the bus. The door swung open and Humble Folx came filing out. It appeared that last night had clearly taken its toll on them. Kenny slowly dragged his feet over the threshold of the door, obviously still hungover. His face was completely hidden by his hoodie. Jimmy was less sluggish, but was still wearing his clothes from yesterday, and it appeared that there were some fresh hickeys on his neck. Clyde was oddly chipper in his demeanor, despite looking like death. He had been the one laughing loudly, much to Kenny's chagrin. Token was the only one of the four who looked well-rested and ready for the day.

Wait...why were only four members here?

* * *

Tweek didn't have to worry about waking up on time because he had never gone to sleep. After partaking in some of the more _enjoyable_ perks of being the frontman of a rock band, he had simply wandered around the city for a while. The other guys had gone back to the apartment once the bar finally kicked them all out, but they must have been too drunk to notice that he wasn't with them. That wasn't an uncommon event. Tweek often stayed up later than his friends, and when the adrenaline of a show had worn off, Tweek wasn't much of a presence. His newly green hair made him stand out a little more than usual, but overall he wasn't quite impressive on a day to day basis.

He was an average height, and an average weight for that average height. He worked out a little bit, but not enough to be noticed for it. He kept his frantic, shaggy hair pulled back with two stainless steel barrettes, one on either side of his head. He kept to himself most of the time. Overall, he was fairly unremarkable.

Unless he was performing, of course. Then that average guy who blended into the walls suddenly became a somebody. Somebody who grabbed people's attention and held it in a death grip until he was good and done with them. When Tweek was in performance mode he was—dare he say it?—fun.

But performance mode doesn't last forever, and eventually, like clockwork, Tweek would end up somewhere quiet and alone by the time the sun rose. Probably wearing shades to hide the bloodshot eyes and puffy lids of the hangover he inevitably would have. This morning, he found himself sitting next to Cherry Creek. It was one of Tweek's favorite spots in Denver. He had written many a song while sitting near it. His feet had just brought him here on their own today. Like his subconscious wanted him to say goodbye to her, if only for now.

Tweek watched the sun rise higher over the city skyline, light spilling out from behind the buildings. His usual frantic thoughts were coming back to him now that he was far enough removed from the stage. He thought about where he had come from and where he was headed. He thought about the people who had scoffed at his dreams and those who had supported them. He thought about how fortunate he was to be in this position, but also of the hardships he endured to get there. He became so lost in the anxiety of leaving for the tour that he didn't see when it was time to head back to the apartment.

When he _did_ check his phone for the time, it was already eight. He shrieked aloud, startling a middle aged woman who was on her morning power walk. It would take him at least thirty minutes to get back.

On the way, he decided to stop and get a coffee from one of his favorite places. The desire for a fresh cup trumped his concern over being late. He was already late anyway, what was an extra ten minutes going to do?

Tweek finally strolled up to the apartment at a quarter to nine. He noticed that Wendy was speaking to some dude in a blue knit chullo over by the van. _Nice choice of headgear in the summer, dumbass_ , he thought. He quickly ran onto the bus before she could notice his late arrival and scold him accordingly.

"Heeeyyy!" Clyde exclaimed. "Look who's finally here!"

Jimmy and Kenny winced at the loud noise.

"Clyde...pl-please keep it down. A-a-asshole."

"I still don't get how he becomes _more_ annoying when he's hungover," Kenny mumbled, sliding down further on the leather couch.

"He's always been like this," Token added. "Since the first time he ever drank."

"Why are you not aff-f-fected, Token?" Jimmy asked.

"Cause I didn't drink last night. Since this was out last night in Denver, I went over Nichole's place and we had our own release party, if you catch my drift." He was grinning from ear to ear.

"Well, I'm glad that _someone_ got laid last night. I ended up getting so shitfaced that I couldn't keep the damn thing up. I'm such a fucking idiot," Kenny muttered.

"I fell asleep!" Clyde turned around in his seat and leaned against the back, bouncing up and down. He looked like an excited puppy. "I think I may still be drunk!"

"Clearly," Token laughed.

"…I got head in the bathroom last night," Tweek quietly said into his coffee cup.

That caused the other four to perk right up.

"The slut st-strikes again, huh?"

"Dammit, Jimmy, not you too!" Tweek whined.

"Hello hello! I'm coming up!" Wendy called out, quickly halting their conversation as she entered the bus.

"Oh good, Tweek, you finally decided to show up. The driver just arrived, so we'll be heading out shortly. I just wanted to introduce you to our guest of honor before we left. Guys, this is Craig Tucker."

Craig appeared behind Wendy. His eyes went directly to Tweek before quickly looking away. Tweek's eyes widened once he got a good look at his face. He was definitely thankful that he had worn shades that morning. What were the fucking odds of _this_? He slowly sank in his chair, hoping that no one would notice the flush appearing in his cheeks.

"He'll be riding in the van with me, for now. Once you guys all develop a rapport, he can ride with you and start on the interview process. Okay then, I'll see you guys somewhere in Wyoming when we stop for food. Don't be a dick to the driver, okay?"

The guys said hello to Craig and thanked Wendy before the two left the bus. Kenny noticed that Tweek looked like an uncomfortable puddle in his seat.

"Dude, Tweek. What the fuck are you doing?" he asked.

"Err...you know…stretching…?" Tweek weakly replied.

"Th-that's a stretch, alright," Jimmy joked.

"Ah fuck. Uhh…you know how I said I got head last night?" Tweek shielded his face with his hand.

"Oh my god, Tweek. Don't you _dare_ fucking say you got blown by the journalist _already_ ," Token said, rubbing his temples.

"Jesus Christ! No!" Tweek screeched. "Who do you think I am, Token? Fuck!" He squirmed in his seat. "He just...ngh...came into the bathroom and saw me getting blown."

Clyde found this incredibly funny. "We haven't even left on tour yet and Craig has already seen your dick, dude!" he laughed. "Do you think he'll write about that for the magazine?"

By now, Tweek's face was completely red and there was no hiding it any longer. His friends laughed at his expense, which, although he knew that they loved him and weren't doing so with malice, was not helping his anxiety, or his hangover. He abruptly jumped out of his seat and ran to the bathroom at the back of the bus.

He barely made it to the toilet before he unloaded the contents of his stomach. Hunched over the small bowl, tears in the corners of his eyes, he began to think about how he went about making choices in his life. Most of them had led him to this place. Led him to being on a tour bus about to travel across the country with his four best friends. Even the objectively bad decisions. But this one decision, the one led by the brain in his dick, may just have turned the next two months into the most awkward and uncomfortable of his life.

Tweek flushed the toilet and rinsed his mouth out with water in the sink. He slowly walked back into the main living area of the bus and lied down next to Clyde, resting his head in his lap. Clyde gently stroked Tweek's hair. Tweek sighed with resignation.

"Guys...I'm a huge fucking slut," he admitted.

Kenny nodded and hummed. "Admitting it is the first step, my friend."

* * *

The drive up through Wyoming was uneventful. The hungover members of Humble Folx tried to sleep it off to no avail, settling on a couple ibuprofen a piece and a lot of water. Thankfully, Token kept quiet. It took a lot for him to not play the " _I told you so"_ card, given the fact that they all knew that they had to be ready early to leave. Still, it's not like he hadn't been over-served in the past when he should have known better. It happened more often than he'd like to admit. He knew it would be more helpful to just keep to himself for the morning and let the others recuperate.

The drive for Wendy and Craig was just as dull. Craig gathered that Wendy was a woman who didn't like small talk. Probably because there were more important things for her to be concerned about. He was totally fine with that. He wasn't a fan either. The silent ride was a gift, as it gave him time to contemplate how to not be awkward around Tweek.

He had seen Tweek's super subtle reaction to his presence on the bus. Craig may have appeared calm and aloof on the outside, but on the inside, he had been screaming. He couldn't look at Tweek for more than a second before he had to look away. How was he going to interview this guy, let alone _exist_ around him? Craig had never been in this situation before. Sure, he'd walked in on people having sex before. He walked in on Stan more times than he could remember. But he always shut his eyes and exited the room as fast as possible. He'd never _lingered_. He'd never experienced enjoyment from voyeurism.

Craig sighed. Wendy didn't seem to notice, or at least didn't bother asking him what was wrong. Craig wasn't sure how he'd explain it to her anyway if she did.

Around 1PM, both vehicles pulled into a truck stop for lunch. They all found themselves sitting around a large table at Denny's. Tweek sat as far as he could from Craig without sitting directly across from him. He had strategized the seating arrangement ahead of time and made sure that he took his seat after Craig did. Clyde sat directly next to Craig, which made Tweek happy. Clyde would talk the most during the meal and hopefully keep Craig's attention focused on him. Clyde was a good friend, whether or not he realized what he was doing.

Once the food was ordered, Craig figured this would be a good time to try to get to know the guys. He'd decided on the trip here that he'd fight the uncomfortable feeling gnawing at his insides by acting like it wasn't there.

"So...yeah...I'm Craig. I didn't get to say it before, but it's nice to meet you all."

Clyde clapped his large hand on Craig's back, jolting him forward. "It's nice to meet you too, dude! We know you'll fit right in!"

"Why do you say that?" Token asked.

"Well...uh...cause he seems like a cool guy, and we're cool guys, so...dammit, shut up Token!"

Token laughed and threw his straw wrapper at Clyde.

"Th-thanks for agreeing to come with us, Craig," said Jimmy.

"Wait, you're thanking me?" Craig asked. "Shit, I should be thanking you guys. Before this, I was just a grunt. Sure they let me write something, but it was like letting a kid help with the chores. They're technically helping, but it's not real in a significant way."

"I honestly thought it was a joke when Clyde came to me saying Tweek had agreed to do an interview, as long as it was you," said Wendy.

Craig chuckled. "I thought the asshole assistant of my boss was trying to do some elaborate prank when he told me. Although maybe it still sort of _is_ a prank, because now he's kind of my boss for the summer."

The food arrived, stopping conversation for a while as everyone dug into their meals.

"So when did you guys start as a band?" Craig asked through a mouthful of hamburger.

Clyde finished slurping down his Coke before answering. "We all went to school together back in South Park. I think we met in...what?...third grade?"

Kenny nodded, holding a fry between his fingers. "Yeah. We didn't really become friends until fourth grade, though. Back then we were a bunch of punk ass kids just trying to have fun."

"We did make some pretty good memories," said Jimmy.

"Anyway," Clyde continued, "somewhere in middle school, we kinda drifted apart. You know how things go. You're in separate classes once they start having classes for smart kids."

They all turned to look at Token, who flipped them off with a smile.

"But then in high school, Token and I started jamming together after school and on the weekends. He got his bass from his dad, who used to play in the nineties. My dad got me my first guitar for Christmas. We were still just learning how to play, but we were _really_ passionate about it."

"We sucked pretty hard, dude," Token laughed.

"One Saturday night, I was walking back from my part-time job," said Kenny, "and I hear these two assholes making all sorts of noise. So naturally I climbed up the tree outside Clyde's room and sat on his windowsill until they noticed me."

"Clyde screamed like a little girl," said Token, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"I did no-! Okay yeah I did. But can you blame me? He just appeared out of nowhere!"

"I'm mysterious like that," Kenny grinned.

"Anyway, Kenny asked to join us. Turned out that he was a fucking natural on the drums. By that point, we started our own sort of garage band, just playing covers of songs we liked. We put flyers around the school looking for some more people. Jimmy approached us and asked if we needed someone to play the keyboard. We said why the fuck not?!"

Craig realized that Tweek had been silent the entire time they were in the diner. He didn't even speak when he ordered his food. He simply pointed to the item he wanted on the menu. Craig had been told that he was a social recluse, but he had thought it was an exaggeration, especially after seeing how charismatic and engaging Tweek was on stage. He looked over at him and felt that uneasy feeling getting stronger. Was this just how things were going to be on this tour?

"Hey Tweek. How did you get involved?" Craig asked.

He hoped that by asking him a simple question, it might get Tweek to join in the conversation. Maybe by engaging him in a professional manner, it would help distract the both of them from the embarrassing private history they shared together.

Tweek glanced up at Craig. Craig was looking directly at him with a blank expression. That was the _worst_ possible outcome for Tweek. Not being able to read what he was thinking or feeling made him feel a surge of dread in the pit of his stomach. If Craig had been smiling, or laughing, or hell, even looking like he wanted to murder someone, it would have been a million times better than literally _nothing_. He thought Craig kind of looked like a mannequin, and that made him even more freaked out. He quickly pushed out his chair and left the restaurant.

They all stared at the door through which Tweek had disappeared. The remaining members of the band turned back to Craig, solemn looks of apology covering their faces.

"Sorry about Tweek, man," said Kenny. "I guess he ran out of spoons already."

"It's fine," Craig said, but he did so out of politeness. "I understand that he has a lot he has to deal with. He can take his time. It's not like I'm going anywhere soon."

Clyde clapped his hand on Craig's back again. "You're a good fucking dude, Craig Tucker."

* * *

It was going on 6:30PM when they finally arrived at the hotel. It was still bright outside, but given the long trip and intensity of the previous night, everyone felt exhausted. Wendy and Craig grabbed their luggage from the back of the van, while the band members filed off of the bus with their bags in tow. Wendy led the pack into the hotel and took control of check-in. The rest wandered around the lobby, with Kenny and Clyde sniffing around the hotel bar.

Tweek, however, still remained on the bus. He paced back and forth, biting at his fingertips. His anxiety had flared up even more during the ride after lunch. He really didn't want to face strangers in the hotel, and he _definitely_ didn't want to face Craig. He was cranky and tired and honestly felt like if he had to talk to someone who wasn't one of his friends, he'd punch them in the jaw.

Tweek's fingertips started to hurt. He had to suck it up and get into the hotel, or he'd gnaw them until they bled. He frantically looked around the bus for something to cover himself with so that he didn't have to look at anyone. Clyde had left his hoodie on the bus. Bless that lovable idiot. Tweek pulled it over his head, making sure the hood sat low enough to cover his eyes.

He peeked out from behind the bus door, just to make sure the coast was clear. He saw his opportunity, so he snuck out, closed the door behind him, and scurried toward the hotel.

Craig was standing in the lobby, browsing the display of flyers for local events and sightseeing. Not that he'd necessarily have time to visit any of them, but it was something to bide his time while he waited for his key card. Once the keys were handed out, Craig volunteered to linger in the lobby, waiting for Tweek. Wendy told him that she could do it instead, but Craig insisted, saying that he needed to use every opportunity he could to get to know him. Truthfully, he needed to talk to Tweek about the previous night, and this was his chance.

He looked up when he heard the hotel door close. That manic hoodie in a roughly human shape was undoubtedly Tweek.

"Hey! Tweek!" Craig called out.

Tweek tugged the hood further over his face and his brisk walk turned into a run toward the elevator.

"HEY!" Craig yelled. He ran after Tweek toward the open elevator.

Tweek frantically pressed the close door button, cursing it under his breath for taking too long.

Craig slipped into the elevator right as the door began to shut, but Tweek didn't have enough time to jump back out before it sealed.

Craig stared at the back of Tweek's oversized hoodie. He knew what he wanted to say, but getting the right words to come out was a whole other story.

Tweek put his fingers back up to his mouth. He bit into the tip of his thumb, hoping that the pain would wake him from this anxiety dream.

"So...about last night," Craig began.

"Nngh," Tweek groaned. "I don't really want to talk about it." He couldn't get himself to look at Craig.

"Yeah, neither do I."

Craig rubbed at the back of his neck. He usually never had trouble speaking his mind, so why now?

"But the fact of the matter is that you and I are going to be seeing each other every damn day for the next two months, and I don't know about you, but I sure as hell don't want to feel this bullshit uneasy feeling every time I see you. It's not professional and it's not cute."

Tweek raised his eyebrows under the hood. He dropped his hands to his sides.

"You're getting that feeling, too?" he asked, finally turning around to face Craig.

"Yes. And I fucking hate it."

Tweek sputtered into laughter. Craig's eyes widened, and for a split second, he thought he was going to get murdered right here in the elevator.

"You seemed so unfazed. I thought I was the only one freaking out."

The elevator slowed down to their floor. The door slid open to reveal a floral print rug and beige wallpaper. They both stepped out, and Craig was afraid that Tweek would run back into the elevator and disappear again. Thankfully, he stayed.

"Ahh...you know...I don't usually do… _that_ ," Tweek continued. "You know, the whole... _you know_."

"Look. We don't need to talk about what you did or what I saw in any specifics. I just wanted to clear the air in some way, and then never speak of it again."

"I can do that."

"Starting tomorrow, let's have a fresh start. A purely professional relationship. Interviewer and subject."

"Musician and journalist," Tweek replied.

"Exactly. Deal?"

"Deal."

Craig extended his right hand, looking to confirm the agreement with a handshake. Tweek pulled his hoodie back just enough so that Craig could see his face. He reached out his hand and clasped it around Craig's. They looked each other in the eye as they shook hands, and they both felt a sort of curious electricity from the other. An electricity that they both chose to ignore, for now.


	5. Chapter 5

The hairs on the back of Craig's neck were still standing up from his encounter with Tweek. After they had agreed to be professional, he had the sudden realization that they might be roommates tonight. Wendy had handed him the keycard without saying who had its pair. He didn't think he'd be able to handle rooming with Tweek tonight. not when there was a seventy percent chance that he was going to have more shower thoughts about the way he looked the night before.

To his relief, they were in separate rooms. Tweek stopped at room 814, while Craig continue to room 818. He slid the keycard into the door and waited for the click. He glanced over at Tweek's door before he opened it. Tweek was staring at him. Once Tweek saw that Craig had noticed, he startled and quickly opened the door, closing it behind him.

Once Craig was certain that Tweek's door was closed, he opened his own door to find who his surprise partner would be for the evening. He was immediately greeted by a series of warm-up scales and chord progressions on an unplugged guitar.

"Oh, hey dude!" said Clyde.

He was lying on the bed closest to the window and had clearly made himself comfortable in the short time he had been alone in the room. His suitcase was already open, some of its contents strewn around his side of the floor. He was also already half-naked, as he had stripped down to just a pair of black basketball shorts. Clyde had a build that was reminiscent of a lumberjack. Thick and strong, but with soft layer of fat around the midsection for those cold Colorado winters. He was also clearly not into "manscaping", but Craig appreciated it. He was honestly getting tired of the hairless scene back in New York.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm letting it all hang out a bit," Clyde laughed. "I know it sounds stupid, but I practice better naked."

Craig's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but Clyde cut him off before he could make a retort.

"Mostly naked, that is! I promise I'm going to keep my pants on while on tour! I only go all out when I'm alone in my room. Or when I have a special guest with me, if you catch my drift."

Clyde laughed low in his throat. The sound sent Craig's thoughts in directions he really didn't need them to go in right now. It was bad enough that he had made the promise to himself that he'd have sex with someone and move on from Thomas this summer, _and_ he had been horny lately—frustratingly so. He really didn't need to start finding every member of Humble Folx attractive. He really didn't need that kind of thirsty energy around him when he was _trying_ to be a professional and _not_ a horny groupie.

"Yeah. It's fine, dude. Clyde, right? I need to start remembering your names so I'm not just calling you all 'dude'. It'll get confusing."

"Yup, that's it! Don't wear it out!" Clyde laughed. "I only like hearing my name said over and over when I'm on stage in front of adoring fans, or when it's being called out by a hot piece of ass."

Clyde had a dopey grin on his face. He shut his eyes while his fingers danced up the guitar's neck.

Craig shook his head and rolled his eyes. Clyde was clearly overcompensating for something. He was probably in denial of his sexuality, or maybe afraid to come out to others. He could be overcompensating for his dick, but based on what Craig could see outlined through the cheaply made shorts, Clyde had nothing to worry about. Maybe he really was just one of those straight guys who felt the need to constantly tell people who straight they were. Craig really hoped it wasn't that, or then this summer would be a lot more difficult to survive.

Still, Craig was happy to have someone he could relate to in sheer level of horniness. He made a mental note to buy some ear plugs, just in case Clyde, or any other roommate, needed some private time during the tour.

"I'm gonna start writing my diary entry for today, if that's okay with you." Craig pulled his Surface Pro from his bag and crawled onto his bed.

"Yeah, dude! As long as you don't mind me playing, write on!" said Clyde.

Craig crossed his legs and opened up a word file. He scratched behind his ears, not really sure where to begin for this first entry. Not that much had happened during the day, in the grand scheme of things. Plus, the more significant things that happened to him _personally_ weren't really something he should share with the world.

He started typing up some basic information—mainly about what the tour bus looked like, and his initial thoughts about what following the band would be like. He paused when he was done, tapping his fingers on the edge of the tablet. He was stuck.

Craig turned to look at Clyde while he practiced. He watched his long fingers flex and bend and move. Clyde's fingers were strong and calloused from years of playing. Craig's mind wandered to thinking about how rough Clyde's fingertips must feel, and how skilled his fingers would be with other activities. As soon as he felt his cheeks start to flush, he dug his fingernails into his thigh and cleared his throat.

Clyde opened his eyes to look at Craig. "What's up?"

"Uhh...on second thought...your playing is kinda...uh...distracting me."

Craig was afraid that Clyde would be able to see right through him. Thankfully, Clyde wasn't that perceptive.

"Yeah, dude, no problem! I'll just go take a shower so you can get your writing done."

"No!"

Craig's mouth yelled before his brain could stop him. If Clyde was this comfortable around strangers, there was a chance he'd come out of the shower buck naked, and Craig did not want to take that risk.

"I, uh...need you," Craig continued. "Need your help. I'm gonna...er, write short bios for each member of the band this week. That's how I'll start the diary off. You know...until the tour gets going and things start getting interesting."

"Oh, that's a great fucking idea!"

Clyde left his guitar on his bed and leapt over onto Craig's. He lied down across the bed, propping up his head on his arms.

"So whaddya wanna know?" he grinned.

* * *

Kenny startled when he heard the door slam shut. dropping his phone onto the bed. He looked up to see Tweek sliding down against the door until he was sitting on the floor. Tweek's face was buried in his hands, his upper body rocking gently back and forth. His hands muffled the long, monotone sound of agony that was coming from his throat.

"Hey, dude," said Kenny. He was unfazed by Tweek's actions at this point in their relationship. "It's about time you left the bus. It's not like we're barely going to be seeing it for the next two months."

Tweek slowly pulled his hands away from his face. It took him a moment, but he finally found his voice.

"I...I wasn't on the bus," he said. "I mean, I was, but I didn't just come from there. I mean, I did, but…"

"But? Spit it out, Tweek. What was it that took you so damn long?"

"I...ngh...I was in the elevator. Talking. Talking to the guy. The journalist guy."

"Craig? You know he has a fucking name, dude," Kenny laughed. "Alright, I'll bite. What did 'Mr. Journalist Guy' have to say?"

"He wanted to talk about him watching me get head in the bathroom last night."

Kenny keeled over onto his bed in a fit of laughter. "Of fucking _course_ that's what he wanted to talk about!"

Tweek groaned and banged the back of his against the door.

"I am never letting you live that down, my man," Kenny said as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "So was that it? He just wanted to thank you for the live porn or something?"

"Jesus Christ, Ken! No! I would be mortified if he'd said that!"

"More mortified than you are right now? That'd be impressive."

"He basically said he wanted to start fresh. Like...like forget the whole thing ever happened and just be professional."

"That sounds pretty normal," said Kenny. He cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. "You think you can be normal for once?"

Tweek grimaced. "Ngh...I can be normal."

"No. No, you really can't, dude," Kenny chuckled. "You're hypersexual, high strung, stubborn, anxious as fuck, and in general, just a mess of a human being. And _that_ is why you're my friend. If you were normal, you'd be boring as shit."

"Uh...thanks?" Tweek rolled his eyes and pulled himself up off the floor. "You're a great friend, Kenny, I'm so glad you believe in me."

"Hey, I just call 'em like I see 'em."

Tweek walked over to his own bed and sat down. He pulled a cigarette out of the pocket of his jeans and stuck it between his lips.

"Do you have a lighter on you?" he asked. "I can smoke in here, right? Cause now I'm a fucking rockstar and shit?"

"I don't think the hotel gives a fuck that we're a band. Also, do you really want to get chewed out by Wendy in the morning? Cause you know you wouldn't hear the end of it if the hotel staff tattled on us."

"Ugh, point."

Tweek plucked the cigarette from his mouth and stuffed it back into his pocket. He grumbled to himself as he stood up and began to pace around the room.

"This fucking sucks," he said.

"What does?" asked Kenny.

"This whole forgetting-it-never-happened thing."

"Dude, I'm sorry I said you can't be normal. Honestly, if you put your mind to it, I know you can do it."

"No, I can't," said Tweek. "I can't forget it ever happened and be strictly professional…cause now…I kinda want to fuck him."

Kenny let out a long sigh. "Of _course_ you do. Damn, you're even worse than me sometimes," he muttered under his breath. "Sure dude, whatever. He is pretty cute. Just fuck him and get it out of your system asap so that you can focus on the tour and doing that damn interview. That's the whole reason he's here, remember?"

Tweek ran his fingers through his hair and grabbed a fistful of his green locks, giving it a tug. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

"Plus, you should probably make sure he's into dudes first." Kenny returned to scrolling through his phone. He was growing bored with the ongoing conversation.

"He must be...right?" Tweek mused as he continued to pace back and forth. "Why else would he have lingered? Why would he have stopped to stare at me getting a blowjob if he was straight?"

Kenny looked up from his phone, incredulous. "Tweek. I'm very disappointed in you. You are not that naive. Most guys like getting blowjobs and would therefore be turned on by seeing someone get one, no matter what their sexuality is. It's not like straight guys never watch straight porn because there's another dude's dick flopping around."

"Yeah. Okay. Fine. But… It's just… You should have seen the way he was looking at me, Kenny. I can't get that out of my head. He had this hungry look in his eyes, and he was licking his bottom lip just a little. It was incredibly sexy. It kinda looked like maybe he-"

"Craved a blowjob of his own?" Kenny said.

Tweek stopped moving, choosing to stare at himself in the room's full length mirror. His hair was a mess and the bags under his eyes looked darker than usual. He really needed to get some sleep tonight.

"I dunno," he sighed. "Maybe it's just me seeing things that weren't really there. Maybe it's just wishful thinking cause he's cute and two rooms down."

"Well, buddy, it sounds like you have quite the predicament. I guess you have a few options," said Kenny. "You can take your time, get to know the guy, and feel out his sexual preferences that way. You could steal his laptop and take a look at his porn. Or you could just straight up ask him to go down on you."

"Gah! What the fuck, Kenny! Are you fucking insane?"

"Of course you'd both be drunk first. I mean…it's not like that strategy hasn't worked for you many times before," Kenny grinned.

Tweek pulled at his hair. "Nghh…. _nggghh_ ….fuck! I don't give a shit about hotel policy, I need a fucking cigarette! Gimme your goddamn lighter!"


	6. Chapter 6

Tweek stood in front of the complimentary breakfast tables along the far side of the hotel dining room. He shifted his weight back and forth, staring at the food, unable to make a decision. A muffin or a bagel? A piece of fruit or cold cereal? Should he take the time to make an omelet, or is that going to make everyone else late? Something as simple as picking out a breakfast food morphed into a complex math problem in his head when there were too many options.

Tweek yelped with a start when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Jesus Christ! Fuck!"

Tweek spun around so he could see the face of his would-be kidnapper, flinching when he saw that it was actually the person who he most and least wanted to see.

"Woah," said Craig, stepping back and holding his hands up in front of him. "Sorry! I was just going to say good morning."

Tweek held clenched fists up under his chin. His eyes were wide and his face was panicked. He gradually softened as the reality that he wasn't going to be abducted set in. His body stayed on high alert, however, as Craig's presence still made him nervous.

He really wanted to try his best to be professional. He didn't want his dick to get in the way and potentially ruin the band's big break. He definitely didn't want to scare Craig off before they were able to do this major interview. Casually saying "hey Craig, I think you're hot and I'd love to bend you over this table and fuck you right here at the continental breakfast buffet" would definitely make Craig run away screaming. Immediately after he slapped him with a restraining order.

Tweek realized he had been silently staring at Craig for what felt like minutes. He inhaled sharply.

"Ah! Uh, it wasn't that good to begin with. Thank you for apologizing though. I'm, ah, not great with being touched if I can't see the person and don't know who they are. Like the whole 'guess who?' game where someone puts their hands over your eyes from behind? Yeah, I've elbowed many a motherfucker who've tried that on me."

"Duly noted," Craig replied. "So why is your morning shitty?"

"Nggh...can't figure out what to have for breakfast. Too complicated."

Craig scanned the tables and was honestly underwhelmed. It looked like almost every other complimentary breakfast that existed. Apparently Tweek really did have some issues. Craig made a mental note to not give him too many options when setting up the interview.

"Yeah. It is pretty difficult," Craig said flatly. He waited for Tweek to react to his sarcasm, but he didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care.

Craig moved over to the hot water and began to make himself a cup of tea for the road. While it was steeping, he chose a whole wheat bagel, toasted it, and spread on a thin layer of cream cheese. When he was finished, Tweek was still standing in the same exact spot, still without food.

"Hey dudes!"

Craig looked over his shoulder to see the remaining members of the band file into the dining room. He took a small sip of his tea as he watched Clyde and Kenny stuff several bagels, muffins, and fruit into their luggage. Jimmy and Token behaved like civilized people and took one or two items from the table.

"It's not like the venue doesn't have some sort of catering," said Token to his greedier friends.

"I'm never going to pass on free food, Token," replied Kenny. "When you grow up not knowing where your next meal would come from, you learn some habits."

"I'm just always fucking hungry," Clyde added.

Token shook his head at his friends, but didn't bother to say anything else. They were hopeless cases when it came to food.

Tweek felt a rush of panic when it looked like everyone else was done picking what they wanted. Meanwhile, he was still undecided. He frantically looked at everyone else, hoping for some inspiration. Token came up to him and handed him a large cup of black coffee. Tweek gave him a look that was somehow both confused and relieved.

"You looked like you did that time you were invited to Annie's wedding and you couldn't decide between chicken, fish, or vegetarian on the RSVP."

"Yeah, that sucked" Tweek laughed. "Thanks for the coffee. You always know what I need, man."

"I just pay attention. One of us has to." Token chuckled to himself and headed out toward the bus.

Tweek took a sip of the hot coffee and practically melted in the middle of the dining room. It was exactly what he needed. He sighed and looked around the room for his friends, quickly realizing that he was alone. He groaned, grabbed his suitcase, and headed outside.

Craig had just finished loading his luggage into Wendy's van when Tweek finally appeared. He looked over at the singer and noticed that he only had a cup of coffee in his hand. Craig furrowed his brow. Had he been serious about not being able to make a decision on breakfast? Or did he consciously make a decision about the coffee, thinking it would be enough to last him the entire day? From the little that Craig knew of Tweek, he assumed the answer was yes.

Wendy returned to the van after briefing the band and the bus driver on the day's plan. She buckled herself in, started the engine, and sped out of the hotel parking lot before Craig could get his belt fastened.

"What the fuck, Wendy?" he asked as he frantically pulled down the belt.

"I'm a woman on a mission, Craig." She quickly glanced at him, then back to the road. "I found out about twenty minutes ago that I had been given false information when I booked those rooms. I'd been told that it was a pleasant ten minute drive from the hotel to the venue. Cut to earlier this morning when I'm on the phone with Leo going over the agenda, and lo and behold, he tells me that the venue is actually forty-five minutes away!"

"You believed that a hotel not located in Salt Lake City would be ten minutes away from a venue in the center of Salt Lake City? You have lived in a city before, yes? And why didn't you check the distance on Google maps or something before you booked the rooms?"

"Goddammit Craig! I'm already stressed enough as it is!" Wendy glanced over at Craig. Her eyes were wide and wild. "Don't fuck with me right now!"

Craig sank back into his seat. He got the message loud and clear. Now was clearly not the time for sarcasm. He tightened the seatbelt around him and dug his fingers into the seat. It was, however, time to hang on for dear life.

* * *

"I don't get what Wendy's deal is," said Kenny. "I mean, forty-five minutes isn't that bad, really. And it's not like the gig starts at ten in the morning and we're gonna be late. We're going to have so much fucking downtime before the show."

"I think the p-p-pros call it hurry up and wait," said Jimmy.

Kenny groaned and pulled his hoodie down over his eyes.

"Kenny has a good point, though," said Clyde. "I guess she had to be there early, but I don't know why we're expected there so early. It's not like we're helping set up the equipment. We don't need nine hours to warm-up."

Token laughed and shook his head. "Guys. Think about it through Wendy's perspective. Would you trust the five of us on our own, in a city we've never been before, to not only get to the show on time, but also to not get into some sort of trouble along the way?"

Clyde, Jimmy, and Kenny looked at each other. "Yeah, you're right," they all sighed.

Tweek stared out of the window at the trees whizzing by. He didn't realize a conversation had been going on. His mind was already elsewhere.

How stupid was he? He was so painfully awkward this morning around Craig. Not only did he scream and swear at him, but he was also one twitch away from jabbing him square in the jaw. Not really the best way to seduce someone into your bed—unless they were a major masochist, but Tweek wasn't really into that scene. Then, _then_ , after he told Craig that he almost punched him, he very unsexily explained how he's apparently confused by food choices.

 _Great. Just great, Tweek,_ he thought. _This is why you never talk to people you're crushing on unless you have a drink in your hand._

Tweek groaned and massaged his temples with his fingertips. Dammit, Kenny was right. Tonight's post-show plan was to get liquored up, and then hopefully get all up on Craig Tucker.

* * *

"Okay boys, attention please!" Wendy waved her hands in the air while bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

The band had arrived at the venue and immediately went to schmooze with the road crew. Wendy was glad that they were so close to the people who made the show happen, but she also needed them to stay on her schedule. It had already been thrown off once today, and she was not going to let it happen again.

"I need the five of you to go do some serious rehearsing while the crew gets everything set. When it's time for a sound check, I'll come get you," she continued.

"What about lunch, Wends?" asked Clyde, raising his hand.

"Obviously when the pizza arrives, I'll let you know."

Clyde raised his hand again. "What about-?"

"Dammit, Clyde! Same answer for dinner! But don't eat too much close to the show. I don't want you guys to be sluggish out there. The Hideout was a great show, but since we were at home and comfortable, it was sloppy. This is the first show on the tour that is going to get mainstream attention. You guys need to really bring it tonight, and every night hereafter."

Craig watched as the band slowly shuffled off to another area of the building. Once they were out of sight, he let his eyes wander around the large open space he was standing in. It didn't look like much now, but he could imagine it filled to the brim with a few thousand people. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a picture of the empty room. He uploaded it to Twitter as his first official tour tweet.

craigtucker - The calm before the storm

 _Fuck, that's cheesy_ , he thought. It was what it was, though. He didn't care enough about social media to delete it now. Wendy would at least be happy that he was having an online presence in some capacity.

"Craig! Over here!"

Craig turned to see Wendy waving at him from the front of the stage.

"I want you to meet our stage manager, Leo."

A short blond man with a quaffed undercut stepped forward with his arm outstretched.

"Professionally I go by Leo, but my friends call me Butters."

"That's...an odd name," said Craig.

"Yeah, I guess it is," laughed Butters. "It's just a silly play on my last name. Stotch."

"Butters Stotch? I don't get—oh, okay. That's kinda cute."

"Yup, that's me!"

A ringtone echoed through the building.

"Ah, sorry! That's mine!" said Wendy. "I have to take this. Excuse me."

The two men watched Wendy run toward the exit, most likely to deal with putting out another fire. Butters turned back to Craig and clapped his hand on his back. Craig lurched forward unexpectedly. Butters didn't look it from his size, but he was surprisingly strong.

"Let me show you around!" said Butters.

Butters led Craig up onto the stage. He introduced Craig to the rest of the crew as he explained his vision for the tour's set design. A few people were working on applying various gels to the lights. Others were busy building the scaffolding that would frame the stage and hold said lights.

Craig took it all in like a little kid. He had been to so many concerts that he had lost count, but this was like a whole other world, getting to see the behind the scenes work. It was like learning how a magic trick works. It was fascinating, and only furthered his respect for road crews.

Butters nodded, seeming content with how everything was coming along. He turned to Craig and smiled. "So yeah, that about covers it for now. Later, we'll start arranging the lights and programming the light board. In case you're interested in watching that."

"Yeah, that'd be cool." Craig hesitated for a moment. "I'm sorry to ask, but your accent. You're not from Colorado, are you?"

Butters smiled. "Nope! Born and raised in North Carolina, just outside of Charlotte."

"So how did you end up here? Like what brought you to this point?"

"That's a mighty loaded question, Craig." Butters voice was somber.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to trigger anything by that."

"No, no, I'm fine," Butters smiled. "How about the quick version now, and if you get a few Chi Chis in me on the tour, I can give you the long version."

"Deal," Craig laughed.

"I had a...let's say difficult childhood. Anyway, I followed some local bands as an escape, then went to Berklee for college. Met Wendy and became friends. Worked around Boston for a year or so after graduation, when one night she calls me and asks if I want to lead a small road crew for a Denver band she was managing. And here I am."

"How do you like working with the band? Like do you get along with them?" asked Craig.

"The fellas? They're great! It's a pleasure to work with them. I even got to work on the recording of their album a little. It was really exciting. I can't say I know them super well, though. There's just never enough time in the day to get into anything deep with them. Except Tweek." Butters' lips curled into a small smile. "I'd say we've gotten pretty close. We bonded over shitty parent stories."

Craig made a note to remind himself to learn more about Tweek's parents.

"Speaking of Tweek…" Craig's voice trailed off. He felt his cheeks flush. He swallowed and tried to will the blood away from his face. "What's his deal, exactly?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, does he…? Is he…? Ugh, how do I put this? He seems...weird."

Butters giggled. "Yeah, that's Tweek alright. He's a mighty interesting person. He can be slow to open up to new people—you know, the anxiety and all—but once he lets you in, he'd be willing to die for you. This one time, after a show, these scary looking fellas were hassling me, and Tweek walked right up, got in their faces and told them to fuck off. I think he was ready to fight them if it came to it. "

Craig hummed. "Interesting."

"Alrighty, I should get back to the stage. It was nice to meet you, Craig!"

"Same, Butters, and thank you. Have a good show."

* * *

The Union Event Center had a small upper level that wrapped around the room. Craig decided to make that his perch for the night. He kept his phone in his hand, partly so he could make notes about his thoughts for the nightly diary, but also so he could live tweet the concert. That was a thing, right? He hoped his couple hundred followers would at least appreciate getting music content for a change. The handful of tweets he had written since he joined a few years ago were about The Queer Spotlight or Floof. Maybe this whole forced tweet thing would actually be beneficial to his career.

The band that opened was a bizarre choice. Not bad, but their sound was a sort of industrial pop metal and it didn't gel with Humble Folx sound as well as another band could have. They definitely had the look for their sound, very gothic. Craig tried to remember what their name was so he could tweet about them, but then it dawned on him that they had never mentioned it. He made himself a note to ask Wendy about it later.

The lights slowly went down for the main event. The crowd roared. Craig felt his body tingle with anticipation. He couldn't help it. It was the reaction he had at concerts ever since his first one when he was twelve.

The lights rose quickly as Clyde and Token opened with high energy riffs. Craig couldn't place which song this was, and he got the feeling that a lot of people in the crowd didn't know it either. That was the downside to being a band entering the mainstream with one popular single, and a cover no less—a fair amount of your audience will only be there to hear that song. Ideally, they end up enjoying your other songs, buy your album and a t-shirt, and boom, you've made a new fan. Worst case scenario, at least you sold a ticket that night.

"Woke up next to a stranger this morning, damn I wish it were you."

Tweek pulled the microphone out of its stand and began to work the crowd from his first line. There really was something magical about him when he was onstage. His wild, bright green hair really stood out under this lighting. Craig couldn't help but smile when Tweek brushed away the stray pieces from his eyes. He could've clipped it back with the barrettes he wore during the day, but he chose to let it be a chaotic mess. That was such a lead singer thing to do.

"Hello, Salt Lake City!" Tweek shrieked once the song had ended. The crowd cheered at the obvious pandering that was expected at concerts.

"We're Humble Folx, and that was 'New Kind of High' from our self-titled album. I hope you're gonna have some fun with us tonight." He flashed a flirty smile at the crowd. "Let's keep the good feelings coming all night, this one is called 'Gimme'."

Craig spent the next few songs trying to watch each band member to get a better feeling for how they perform, but his eyes kept going back to Tweek. It was hard not to. Tonight, he looked like a young Robert Plant. His dark blue skinny jeans left little to the imagination, and his decision to wear a button down shirt was clearly so that he could leave it open the whole night. When he wasn't running along the edge of the stage, trying to interact with the fans as much as possible, he was playing with the hem of his shirt while he stood still. A nervous tic, perhaps, or maybe just a trick to draw attention to his waist and hips.

Craig caught himself staring more times than he wanted to admit. Tweek was pretty hot, Craig admitted to himself. There was no harm in enjoying the view, right? As long as he kept everything else professional, there shouldn't be a problem.

* * *

Maybe just looking still had its problems.

Craig sat alone in the VIP section of the club, feeling uncomfortably hard up, nursing his drink of choice for the evening - ice water with lime. He decided to keep things sober tonight. It was the only way he was going to keep things professional until he managed to find someone on Grindr who didn't skeeve him out. He was clearly the only one taking this option, as the entire band, and even Wendy, were out on the main dance floor, shaking and flirting their asses off.

They almost didn't even get into this club. The guys had decided that this was the one they wanted to go to, since it was apparently the hottest one in Salt Lake City. However by being the hottest club, it was also the most exclusive. Apparently they had all thought that their status as a hot new band on tour would let them slide right through. They didn't take into consideration that they were mostly men, and that most clubs tried to keep set gendered ratios. The bouncer had stepped in front of the door as Kenny tried to confidently walk in. The other four bunched up behind him like a multi-car collision.

Wendy had quickly swooped in and whispered something into the bouncer's ear before slipping him an indiscriminate amount of cash. The large man simply smirked and pocketed the money before stepped aside.

Craig sat stirring the ice around in his glass with his finger. He wondered what Wendy had said to the guy. Did she mention that they were a band? Did she say something suggestive? If it was the latter, did she give a sexy compliment or did she do something as rash as offering up her body later? From what Craig knew of Wendy, it most certainly wouldn't be something like that. Offering sexual favors to strangers didn't seem to be her style.

However, dancing very close to strangers while intoxicated did seem to be her style. Craig chuckled as he watched her on the dance floor below. She was letting her hair down, both literally and figuratively. She was still dressed in her pantsuit from earlier, but the jacket had long since been removed, and her shirt was unbuttoned enough so that her bra was part of her look. It looked like she was grinding up one some douchey looking EDM bro. The kind of person she would probably tend to knee in the groin, but right now she was definitely into it.

"Hey Craig!"

Craig looked over to see a sweaty Kenny and Clyde coming up the stairs. Their hair was disheveled, with a few pieces here and there matted against their foreheads. They waved at Craig as they passed by, heading straight for the private VIP bartender. Craig was glad for that, as the nice woman on duty wasn't getting much out of him and his water.

Kenny came back over to Craig's spot after ordering, leaving Clyde to wait for the drinks.

"Jesus H Fuck, is it hot in here!" he whined. "Why is it always so hot in clubs?"

"It's usually to encourage people to skimp down to as little clothing as possible," Craig calmly replied.

"Yeah? Well, mission fucking accomplished."

Kenny proceeded to peel his damp t-shirt off of his body. He was long, slender, and had a remarkably toned body. Although he was stone cold sober, Craig still perceived Kenny as moving in slow motion. It was like his dick was directing a pretentious perfume ad for his eyes or something. Why did the members of this band have to all be attractive? Normally, Craig had no problem with being around attractive men. It never made his logical, rational brain shut off as his primal brain turn on. However, he currently seemed to be inundated with it while he needed to focus on furthering his career, and it wasn't a good mix.

 _You should be focused on getting a nice deep dicking,_ said a surprisingly loud voice in his head.

Craig shifted in his chair. Kenny was just a shirtless guy! Guys were shirtless all the time! It shouldn't be getting this reaction out of him!

"Hey, Kendoll, here's your drink," Clyde announced as he rejoined them.

"Kendoll?" asked Craig.

"Yeah," Kenny giggled. "It's my nickname when I'm drunk."

He brought his glass up to his lips, trying to catch the straw in his mouth without the use of his hands. He it took him a moment to figure it out, and in the process, he caused the tiny umbrella in the glass to fall onto the floor.

"I'll get that for you, bro!" Clyde offered.

He bent down at the waist and tried to aim for the paper umbrella. His jeans stretched tight over his thick ass. It was the kind of juicy ass that Craig wanted to use as a pillow, and—dear god, what was happening now?

Clyde had missed when he grabbed for the umbrella and it threw him off balance. He staggered forward slightly, and grabbed onto Kenny's hips to regain his footing. He stayed in the awkward position for a moment, looking up at Kenny and grinning.

"Sorry, dude! My bad!"

Kenny looked down at Clyde, whose mouth was mere inches away from his groin, and didn't flinch. "No problem! You're such a good friend." Kenny stroked his hand through Clyde's hair and patted his head.

Craig's eyes were wide with—wonder? he was going to go with wonder—at the spectacle unfolding in front of him. He wasn't sure if these two realized just _how_ homoerotic they were being at the moment, or whether they cared or not, but it reminded Craig of the opening to a gay porn. He bit into his knuckles, doing his best to hold back a groan.

"What's g-going on guys?"

The three of them heard Jimmy coming up the stairs before they saw him. It gave Clyde and Kenny plenty of time to stand upright without falling over.

"Hey Jimjim!" Kenny raised his glass as his friend finally made his way over.

"Hey Kendoll!" Jimmy replied.

The three bandmates stood in front of Craig, conversing and laughing like he wasn't there. There was a reason that no one ever wanted to be the only sober person at a party. Craig didn't mind though. It gave him more time to stare at Jimmy's ridiculously cut arms.

Craig was almost afraid that maybe he hadn't been drinking water the whole night. Did Jimmy have these arms yesterday? Obviously he did, but he'd apparently been hiding these guns from everyone. Right now he was wearing a sleeveless shirt that showed them off. It made sense for Jimmy, especially if he was trying to score tonight, but it was driving Craig crazy. He wasn't even an arm guy, but his body had been marinating in hormones for weeks and he couldn't seem to help it.

Craig closed his eyes. He breathed slowly in and out. He drowned out the sound of the others chatting, the dance music, everything. He focused on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Good. He could feel himself relaxing.

"Heeeeey Craig."

A shiver ran down Craig's spine. A deep, velvety voice rumbled into his ear. He peeked open one eye and found Token grinning at him like a fool.

"I just wanted to make sure you hadn't fallen asleep, buddy," he said.

"How could I ever fall asleep here? I'm just having so much fun," said Craig, flatly.

Token had already moved on to the bar before Craig could finish his sentence. Luckily for Craig, the others followed his lead. He watched as they picked up the shots Token ordered, clinked them together sloppily, and threw them back. It took another ten minutes before they headed back down the stairs to the main floor when some new song got them pumped up.

Craig sighed. He had finally regained most of his composure. He had a fresh, cold water in his hand. He'd moved to a plush black leather chair that was in a more dimly lit area of VIP. All that was left was an erection that he just couldn't seem to will away. He laughed to himself. Except for the fact that he was in some high end nightclub right now, this scenario didn't feel that much different than how he had been spending his nights back at home. He closed his eyes and listened to the thrum of the bass beneath him.

He felt a shift in weight on the arm of the chair. He opened his eyes and gasped. Tweek was leaning over the chair's arm, his face obnoxiously close to Craig's. He was clearly drunk, as Craig could never see a sober Tweek getting this close to anyone. Tweek suddenly placed his hand on Craig's thigh. His fingertips curved around the inner thigh, and were painfully close to Craig's erection.

"Can I help you?" Craig forced out.

Tweek just sort of patted his hand against Craig's thigh. Craig suspected that Tweek thought he had his hand on Craig's knee, which would have still be awfully personal, but less directly sexual in nature.

"Aww," Tweek slurred. "Where's your martini, Mr. Journalist?"

Tweek giggled and shifted his position so that he was now perched on the arm of the chair, leaning most of his body weight into Craig.

"I've chosen to stay sober tonight, on account of being professional," said Craig.

"Mehhh...that's no fun," Tweek pouted.

He was silent for a moment. He didn't move, either. Craig thought that he might have fallen asleep against him. Then, without warning, Tweek repositioned himself again, turning to face Craig.

"Hey, can I tell you something?" he asked.

His mouth was dangerously close to Craig's ear. He could feel the heat of his breath against his neck, which was one of his stronger erogenous zones. Craig swallowed hard. He was so glad that he had moved to a darker corner. If he were sitting under better lighting, even a drunk person would have been able to tell that his cock was straining for dear life against his pants. He let out a staggered sigh.

"Sure, Tweek." He tried to keep his voice as cool as possible.

"I really liked it when you were watching me the other night. That's why I didn't bother locking the stall, ya know? It's really fun to fuck in public spaces."

Craig licked his bottom lip. "I thought you said you normally didn't do that sort of thing. And what happened to not talking about it? To being professional?"

Tweek rested his head against Craig's and groaned. "That was sober Tweek talking. He's an anxious neurotic motherfucker and he sucks. I'm way more fun."

"Well, I like sober Tweek. He seems to make much better decisions-"

"Psh, he can't make any fucking decisions," Tweek interjected.

"-and speaking of better decisions, I'm gonna make one now."

Craig stood up from the chair, causing Tweek to slump over into the warm seat. He headed down the stairs to the main dance floor, glass still in hand. He found the bathroom and headed in, finding a stall and making sure it was securely locked this time.

Craig placed the glass on the floor and quickly unfastened his pants. He pulled out his dick, just glad that it was no longer confined to its cotton blend prison. He stood over the toilet bowl, debating about how he was going to get rid of this large problem. The easiest way would be just to jerk off and get it over with, but Craig was already getting really fucking tired of jerking off every night.

He could just wait for it to go down. Bathrooms weren't the sexiest of locations, and hearing people pissing only a few feet away would eventually kill any dirty thoughts that were lingering in his head. He looked down at the glass of ice water on the floor. He could always pour that on his dick and try to speed up the process. It would be awfully painful, though. None of the options seemed ideal.

Craig decided to not pick any of those options. He carefully put his dick back into his pants and went to leave. He reached for the door, but before he could grab it, it swung open from the other side.

Tweek almost bumped into Craig. Craig had kind of wished that he had. That's how pent up and touch starved he was feeling.

Tweek sidestepped out of the way, holding his hands up in front of him. "I'm just going to take a piss, I promise!" he laughed. "I don't have anyone to go down on me tonight."

Craig laughed weakly and made a beeline out of the bathroom and onto the dance floor. He ducked and dodged through the sweaty dancers until he found Wendy, now grinding between two women.

"Hey," Craig yelled over the music. "I hate this. Can I have the keys to go back to the van?"

"Yeah sure!" Without missing a beat, Wendy reached down her shirt and pulled out the keys from inside her bra.

"Thanks," Craig muttered.

He turned on his heel and headed straight for the exit.

* * *

Once outside, Craig felt like he could breathe again. He ambled back to the venue, where the tour vehicles were still parked.

When he arrived at the van, he unlocked the back doors and sat on the edge. He leaned back on his hands and let his feet swing back and forth. He needed this. He needed this moment of calm, this moment alone. It was only day two, and he had confirmed that tours were no place for introverts. It wouldn't be so bad, but there's barely any time or space to be alone and recharge your internal battery.

He scrolled through his phone, looking at twitter to see that some people had actually replied to his live tweets. It felt kind of cool, having people directly comment on something you wrote. Okay, that was a lie—it felt very cool.

He closed the app and saw the time on his home screen. Just after midnight. That was it? It felt like he had been in the club so much longer than that. Craig pursed his lips. He didn't really want to go to sleep right now. Even though he felt much calmer than before, he was still pretty riled up. If he lied down now, he'd be staring at the van ceiling for who knows how long.

Craig's eyes drifted to Grindr. This would be a good time to deal with this growing problem of his. The band is out and he's alone. He could get his rocks off and get back to the van before they returned. It's not like he was going to need a lot of time to finish. He bit his lip hard, playing mental tennis on the subject.

 _Salt Lake City_ , he thought. _It probably won't be hard to find a closeted Mormon guy for something quick and anonymous._

He opened the app and began to scroll, in the name of professionalism.


	7. Chapter 7

Wendy's eyes softly flickered open when a thin sunbeam made it past the door to the bunks. She sat up onto the edge of her bed and stretched. A sudden wave of nausea hit her. She took full, deep breaths, and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. Messy crisis averted. Past Wendy should have taken some ibuprofen to try to prevent present Wendy from having an awful headache.

Another day, another city, another show to rock the pants off of America. That's how Clyde had so eloquently put it as they had returned to the bus last night. She looked over at the other bunks, smiling at her crew of dumb boys. They essentially couldn't function without her and caused her large amounts of stress, but she loved them nonetheless. The steady hum of the bus engine was the right amount of white noise to keep them sleeping soundly. The amount of partying they had done mere hours ago didn't hurt either.

Wait.

The steady hum of the bus engine?

No. No no no no no! What was going on? Who was driving? Were they bus-jacked? Where were they and where were they going? This was not how the plan was supposed to go!

This was a nightmare. Wendy pinched herself and tried to will herself awake, but to no avail. This was reality.

She slid open the door to the rest of the bus and charged toward the front, not worried about the fact that she was only wearing a thin camisole and panties. She stood in the doorway to the driver's area and let loose.

"What the fuck is going on?!"

The driver yelped and briefly swerved into the next lane.

Wendy peeked out the windshield and could only tell that they were on a highway. Which highway and what state it was in, she did not know.

"Excuse me, miss! You startled me!" the driver said. His prim British accent only seemed to anger Wendy more.

"Like hell I startled you! Where the fuck are we? Why are we already on the road? The schedule said—"

"The schedule said that we were to leave Salt Lake City at eight o'clock in the morning, sharp. At eight, I made sure all five band members and you, the manager, were accounted for, and I started driving. It is currently eleven twenty in the morning, we are in Idaho, on route I-84 west, and currently passing through Jerome County. We are on schedule to arrive in Boise shortly after one in the afternoon."

Wendy paused, dumbfounded. This guy pissed her off for some reason, but he clearly was prepared. It was probably how prepared he was that pissed her off. That was supposed to be _her_ job.

"Okay. Okay, that's good. But why didn't you wake me up? I'm the freaking band manager, I should know these things!"

"I'm sorry, miss. I didn't want to disturb your sleep. You all looked quite wasted, even in sleep," he said.

Wendy opened her mouth, then promptly closed it. She had no words. He was right, as much as she didn't want to admit it.

"Thank you," she mumbled before shuffling back into the main lounge.

Wendy took a deep breath. It seemed that everything was going to be all ri—

The van! What about the merch van?! All of their promotional gear was stuffed into the back. Thousands of dollars in t-shirts, posters, and keychains were still in Salt Lake City, if not at the bottom of the Great Salt Lake itself. Since she wasn't driving the van, it was totally gone, abandoned. It's not like Craig would have—

Craig! Where was _he_? Wendy frantically looked in every bunk, counting off every band member, but no journalist.

She grabbed her cell phone from her bag and quickly dialed Craig's number. She paced up and down the length of the lounge, her stomach filling with dread each time it rang and no one picked up. She remembered giving him the keys at the club last night, but she never saw him again after that since she ended up crashing on the bus with the boys.

"Hello?" Craig's flat voice finally came through the phone.

"Craig! Oh my god, Craig? Where are you?" Desperation filled Wendy's voice.

"I'm on route I-84 west heading toward Boise driving a gaudy van full of overpriced cotton tees...cause wasn't that the plan?"

Wendy scrunched her face in frustration. She didn't appreciate Craig's sarcasm right now, but she was happy to know that her plan was so solid that it could still go on while she was sleeping off a hangover.

"Yes, Craig. That was the plan. You don't have to be smug about it just because you didn't do something stupid last night."

"How many chances do you think I'm gonna get on this tour to rub something stupid in your face? I gotta take the opportunity when I have it," Craig laughed. "I'll see you at The Knitting Factory."

"See you then," she said, hanging up the phone and dropping it back into her bag.

Meanwhile, back in the bunks, the rest of the band had finally begun to stir. Once Wendy had stormed out into the main lounge, slamming the slide door shut behind her, no one could really get back to sleep. A bottle of ibuprofen and a bottle of water were passed around the room as the pain of hangovers were discovered yet again.

As they began to get dressed, Kenny decided to pry into Tweek's love life.

"So...Tweeky baby...did you work your drunk magic on Craig last night?"

Tweek gave Kenny the side eye and flipped him off from his perch on the top bunk.

"Oh my god, _what?_ You're trying to bang the journalist guy? Is he into dudes?" Clyde yelled from his bunk.

"Dude, please don't ruin this for the rest of us," said Token, pulling on a clean t-shirt. "I know your dick tends to do the thinking for you, but please, _please_ don't fuck the person who is trying to help us break through into the mainstream. I _beg_ you."

"Yeah Tweek, I'm with Token on this one," said Jimmy. "But seriously, d-did you hit that last night?"

"I fucking tried, dude. He's one hundred percent completely straight. He resisted my every move. I even straight up told him that I didn't have anyone to blow me that night. How is that not clearly an invitation?!"

Jimmy sighed. "That doesn't sound like an invitation at all. That sounds like you were just being a whiny little b-bitch about not getting head. Like you weren't implying that you were looking to have him specifically blow you, you were j-just looking for a blowjob from anyone."

"I mean...I wouldn't have turned down an offer from anyone else," said Tweek.

"He probably didn't assume that you were implying that you wanted one from _him_ , so you can't know for certain if he turned you down because he's straight or if he just had no clue," said Jimmy.

"You should've offered to blow him!" exclaimed Clyde. He jumped off of his bunk and began to rummage through his luggage. "That way, if he said no, then you'd definitely know he was straight!"

Kenny came out of the bathroom, laughing.

"Dude, what's so funny?" asked Clyde.

"That fact that you think a straight man wouldn't accept a blowjob from another man," said Kenny.

"And how would you know?" asked Clyde.

A lecherous grin spread across Kenny's face. As he opened his mouth to elaborate for Clyde, Token cut him off.

"Nope! I'm stopping you before you even start, Ken. Please tell Clyde about your weird hook-ups later. I'm hungover and cranky, so just...please be cool?"

"Okay, just for you, babe," Kenny joked, putting his arm around Token's shoulders and kissing his cheek.

" _Ngh,_ whatever! The fact is that Craig is definitely straight and that makes me pissed off!" said Tweek.

"Are you seriously that upset about not being able to fuck him? There are tons of other people, dude. I think you need to get over this," said Jimmy.

" _Gah_ , it's not _that_. At least not entirely," said Tweek. "I'm pissed off that someone who writes a column called 'Queer Spotlight' is straight. I assumed the writer would at least be bi, you know? I guess LGBTQ culture is so fucking commercialized now that any asshole straight person can write an article focused on queer stuff."

"What about straight allies?" asked Token.

"Yeah...don't get me wrong, they're awesome—obviously I love you and Nichole—but…I dunno," Tweek's face scrunched up in disappointment, "it just feels less organic if it's not written by someone who's somewhere on the queer spectrum."

He zipped up his grey hoodie and pulled the hood over his head. He reached to slide open the door to the rest of the bus, but it started to open on its own before his hand touched it. A still-undressed Wendy stood in the doorway.

"Okay! Everything isn't ruined after all!" she said brightly. "So, here's the plan for today…"

* * *

 _"Yes, Craig. That was the plan. You don't have to be smug about it just because you didn't do something stupid last night."_

Craig laughed to himself. What Wendy didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Just because he didn't get drunk and party with the rest of them didn't mean that he didn't do anything stupid last night.

 _Craig spent several minutes scrolling through dozens of guys near him. There were tons of hot guys—a surprising number for Salt Lake City, honestly. Craig expected this much selection in a major city like New York or LA, but Utah didn't scream gay hotspot to him. Still, despite there being many conventionally attractive men in the area, none of them really appealed to Craig. He was looking for something he couldn't have, and although he would never admit it aloud, he was aware that he was doing it._

Wrestlechamp99: Hey

 _Craig jumped at the sound of his phone pinging. He never expected someone to message him first. It must be a sign or some shit. That's what Stan would have said._

 _"Wrestlechamp, huh?" Craig mumbled to himself._

 _What a dumbass name. He did look pretty cute from his profile pic, though. A blond with sweet eyes. Maybe it was worth a try._

RedRacerFan: Hey.

Wrestlechamp99: I love Red Racer! I didn't get to watch much TV growing up, but I was always allowed to watch Red Racer after school.

RedRacerFan: Cool.

Wrestlechamp99: Would you want to come over and we could watch a few episodes?

RedRacerFan: Would we _actually_ be watching the show if I came over right now?

Wrestlechamp99: That wasn't my true intention, but I thought it sounded better than "wanna come over and fuck?"

RedRacerFan: The galaxy brain version would be "wanna come over and fuck, and after we can watch some Red Racer".

Wrestlechamp99: You got me there. ;) So…you up?

RedRacerFan: Where do you live?

 _It was about a fifteen walk from the van to the address he was given. He sure hoped it wasn't a murder house. Thankfully, his GPS brought him to a nice looking apartment in what appeared to be an expensive neighborhood. Didn't mean he still wouldn't get murdered, but at least it'd be in a nice location, he supposed._

 _He found the right door and knocked._

 _"I'm coming!" said a voice from inside._

 _Craig snorted. If everything went well, he'd be hearing that again tonight._

 _"Hi, I'm looking for Wrestlechamp99," said Craig to the person he sensed was looking at him through the peephole._

" _RedRacerFan?" asked the voice._

 _"Yeah."_

 _The sound of the door unlocking was uncomfortably loud in the empty hallway. It was the telltale sound of the awkward late night hook-up. The door opened to reveal the blond beauty that Craig had been hoping for._

 _"Hi there! Come on in! Are you hungry at all? Would you like me to fix you a snack?"_

 _Craig didn't expect such hospitality from the guy he was about to fuck. Mormons, man. They were friendly as fuck. Craig wished New Yorkers would learn a thing or two from them._

 _"Honestly dude, there's only one thing I'm hungry for tonight, and you're all the snacc I'll need," said Craig._

 _Craig hated himself for using such fuckboy language, but he didn't really have time to socialize with this guy. He needed to get his rocks off and get back to the van before the band stumbled back from the club. He wanted to keep this as discreet as possible. The last thing he needed was for the band to start asking questions about where he had gone._

 _"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. It's a habit. Raised Mormon and all," the guy laughed sadly. "The name's Gary, by the way."_

 _"Craig."_

 _"Nice to meet you, Craig."_

 _Gary's smile lit up the room. He was slender and a bit taller than Craig had expected, but still shorter than himself. He was clean cut and_ very _cute. Gary led Craig through the apartment to the living room._

 _"So I have to admit that I've never done this before. Asking someone over from an app, that is. Do you want to start out here or in the bedroom?" asked Gary._

 _"That's okay, I don't do this very often myself. I prefer just going to the bedroom. When I'm ready to fuck, I don't want to have to move to another room, and, unpopular opinion, couches aren't good for sex."_

 _"Okay! That's fine! Let me show you the bedroom."_

 _Gary led Craig down a hallway covered with framed portraits. One was of a sweaty Gary in a wrestling singlet holding up a medal and smiling. Behind him was a sign that said 'Utah High School Wrestling Championships 2016'. That explained his user name. Another was of a woman smiling at the camera while picking an apple from a tree. She appeared in several other portraits on the wall, including a couple with Gary._

 _"Hey Gary, I know I probably shouldn't pry into your private life, but...is this your sister in these photos, or…?" asked Craig._

 _"No, that's my wife," Gary calmly replied._

 _"And she's okay with this?"_

 _"She's out of town visiting some friends from high school. We were high school sweethearts. She's the light of my life."_

 _Gary paused. His eyes were sad._

 _"But the truth is that I am attracted to men. I'm attracted to her, too, I think. But I've been craving the touch of another man for a long time. Ever since wrestling in high school. I prayed so hard for my sinful thoughts to go away, but they didn't. I've thought about this for a long time, Craig. I want to start living my authentic life."_

 _Normally, Craig would have apologized to Gary and excused himself from the situation. He was not interested in being someone's side piece, and he wouldn't want to be the reason for someone's marriage imploding. However right now, at this very moment, his dick had overridden his brain and was doing the thinking for him._

 _"Okay, cool. Do you want to top or bottom?" he replied._

 _"Oh. Yes. I'd like to bottom, please," said Gary._

 _"Got it," said Craig._

 _He pulled Gary into a kiss without warning. He felt the smaller man gasp against his lips, but quickly recover, responding back with sincere enthusiasm._

 _Craig slid his hands down Gary's back, resting in the slight curve above his ass. His back felt strong and lean through his thin button up shirt. Even if he didn't still wrestle, he clearly kept in shape. Craig had a strong urge to know what his ass must feel like. He dropped a hand down to cup Gary's ass, giving it a squeeze._

 _He felt Gary flinch at the touch._

 _"Are you okay?" Craig asked, breaking away from the kiss._

 _"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I'm great," said Gary._

 _"Okay…"_

 _Craig decided to use this pause to take off his shirt. Gary followed Craig's lead, unbuttoning each tiny button at an agonizingly slow pace. Gary looked up at Craig through his long lashes. Craig couldn't tell if Gary was trying to seduce him or if he was just making sure that Craig was looking, but it turned him on nonetheless. Watching a timid sexually-repressed Mormon man slowly undress himself was not something Craig expected to find so erotic. He wanted to just tear the rest of his clothes off and bend him over the bed, but having to wait made it better._

 _"You have a great body," Craig said once Gary's shirt was finally on the floor._

 _"Aw shucks, thanks. I'm not in as good shape as when I wrestled, but I try to keep fit and eat well. I like your body, too." He blushed as his eyes wandered Craig's body._

 _Craig snorted. "I'm a skinny asshole with, like, no muscle at all, but thank you anyway."_

 _"N-no, it's good. I like it."_

 _Their pants were soon scrapped. They sized each other up, still clad in their underwear, and were quickly back on each other, Craig's somewhat dry lips pressed against Gary's thin but soft lips._

 _Craig grabbed Gary's hips and pulled him close as they continued to kiss. He began to grind his aching cock against Gary's cock. Finally, the kind of friction he had been craving for months. Gary whined and gripped his fingers into Craig's arms. Craig took it as a signal to keep going, so he moved his hips faster, feeling his cock throbbing with need._

 _Gary whined again. Craig felt something wet against his face. That's when Craig realized that those weren't actually whines of desire, they were sobs. Gary was crying._

 _Craig quickly pulled away, eyes wide and hands up defensively._

 _"Oh my god, dude. Did I hurt you?" he asked._

 _Gary sniffled and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "No...no...you didn't...I just…" He could barely finish a thought through his sobs._

 _"Are you sure you want to go through with this, Gary? You don't have to. It's okay."_

 _"No, I totally want to do this! I want to live my authentic life! I'm attracted to men! I like penises! See?"_

 _Gary wobbled toward Craig, his hands out in front of him, like a child walking for the first time. He reached out and grabbed Craig's bulge. Craig grimaced as Gary immediately yelped and jumped back, covering his face with his hands._

 _"I'm sorry! I can't do it! I can't!" His sobs got louder, turning into wails._

 _Craig stood in his underwear, in the middle of a crying stranger's bedroom, in a nice apartment in Salt Lake City, and wondered what wrong turn he'd made in his life to bring him to this moment._

 _"It's fine, dude. I promise," he said._

 _"I love my wife, Craig! I love my wife and God too much! My body wants me to do this, but my heart belongs to my wife and my faith."_

 _Gary stumbled back and sat on his bed. His eyes were puffy and red, tears streaking down his cherubic cheeks. Craig nodded slowly and picked up his clothes from the floor._

 _"I'm so sorry for this, Craig. I know deep down that I'm gay, that I crave the touch of another man, but...I'm not strong enough. I can't give up everything and everyone that I love." He grabbed a tissue from his bedside table and blew his nose._

 _Craig started to put his pants back on. "It's okay, man. Shit happens. Living authentically should be about living your best life and being happy. It shouldn't be making you this upset, you know?"_

 _He bent down to slide his sneakers back onto his feet, not bothering to untie them before he did._

 _"But seriously Gary, if that ever changes—if you ever feel differently about your wife and your faith, and you want to be who you are deep down—don't be afraid to come out, okay? I know it will be hard, and really fucking scary, but I bet you can find a lot of people ready to love and support you around here if you look."_

 _Gary took a deep breath in through his nose and slowly let it out through his mouth. He nodded and stood up. "Thank you for understanding, Craig. That makes me feel a lot better. I'll keep your words in mind."_

 _Craig pulled on his shirt as Gary walked him to the door. He patted the pockets of his pants to double check for his wallet and phone before he left. Gary opened the door, still in his underwear. Craig lingered in the doorway, taking one last look at yet another blond he couldn't have._

 _"Hey, one more thing," he said. "I just need you to know that you're a really cute twink, and you'd totally be able to get tons of dick."_

 _And with that crude final remark, Craig ran off down the hallway._

Craig sighed as he signaled to take Exit 54. He had been so close to getting what he wanted. He thought it was such a sure thing. He should have known it wasn't going to end well as soon as he saw the wife's photos in the hallway.

Oh well. Live and learn and all that shit. Blue balls or not, he had much more important things to worry about right now.

He pulled the merch van into the parking lot of the Knitting Factory and parked a few spots over from the equipment trailer. As he got out of the van, he noticed that the tour bus hadn't arrived yet. They probably stopped for food and had to actually get out of the bus. Luckily for Craig, he had been able to simply go through a drive-thru and saved some time.

Craig saw Leo delegating tasks to other roadies and waved at him.

"Oh hey there, Craig!" said Leo when he finally noticed. "How was the drive?"

"Eh, not too bad. How about yours?"

"It was A-okay!"

Craig shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He felt awkward just standing there doing nothing while all of the road crew was working.

"So, uh, Butters...is there anything I can do to help?" he asked.

"Heck yeah! We're still just unloading everything, so if you want to grab whatever you can comfortable carry and follow the gang inside, they'll show you where to put stuff down."

* * *

"For the last time, Clyde, we're not famous enough to book the Taco Bell Arena this tour! Its capacity is over twelve thousand, and we are _not_ ready for that!" said an exasperated Wendy.

"Fine, fine, I'll let it go for now, but will you promise to try to get it on the next tour? I _need_ to play there at least once before I die!" Clyde whined.

Wendy sighed. "Yes! Okay! Just _please_ drop it already!" She glanced out the window. "All right, we've finally made it. I don't know about you guys, but I need to get the fuck off of this bus before I strangle the guitarist."

The rest of the band laughed as they watched Wendy practically run off of the bus as soon as the engine was cut. They gradually made their way off as well, casually strolling through the back parking lot on their way to the artists' entrance. Kenny brought up the rear.

"Hey, you coming in, Ken?" Tweek called from the double doors.

"Nah man, I'm gonna have a smoke first. Want one?"

" _Ngh_ , I'm good for now. I'll have one closer to the show."

"Gotcha. Tell Wendy I'll be there in a few."

Tweek saluted Kenny and disappeared into the building.

Kenny put a cigarette between his lips and flicked down on the lighter with his thumb. He paced around the parking lot as he unwound from the drive. It certainly wasn't the longest bus ride ever, but there had been a lot of tension packed into those hours. Wendy had been on edge the entire morning. Tweek had been sulking like a little bitch. Clyde had been that annoying kid in the back of the car who won't shut up. Token had been on the phone for at least an hour trying to console a crying Nichole who was reeling from a dream she'd had where Token cheated on her. Kenny and Jimmy had been the only two sane ones, but then Jimmy decided to be an asshole and escaped to the front of the bus to chat it up with the driver. Kenny had been trapped inside that metal tube cruising at 70 mph for hours, and he couldn't even smoke on it. It was hell.

However, heaven was dragging on a cigarette while basking in the solace of an empty parking lot. He wanted to stay out there forever, knowing that once he went inside the venue, it was going to get wild again. Resigning to the fate that he'd signed up for when he joined the band, Kenny slowly began to make his way toward the back entrance.

 _"With the power of your dreams!/There's nothing you can't achieve!"_

Kenny stopped dead in his tracks. "The fuck?" He looked around for the source of the music.

 _"Let your passion steer you down the path to glory!/ Hey Hey Red Racer Go!"_

Kenny bent down to pick up the ringing phone from the cracked pavement. He didn't know who's phone it was, or who the hell Stan was, but he was about to find out.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Uh...hello? Who's this?" asked the voice on the other end.

"No one of importance. I found this phone on the ground, so it's mine now."

"Dammit, Craig!" The voice grew fainter, like Stan was talking to someone else in the room. "It's only been like three days and the fucker already lost his phone!"

"Craig? You mean the journalist guy Craig?" asked Kenny.

"Wait, do you know him? Seriously, who is this? I'm his roommate and I wanted to see how his trip was going," said Stan.

Kenny looked around the parking lot, catching a glimpse of the merch van. Craig was probably inside. "I'm gonna guess he's busy with the rest of the band right now."

"Oh. Okay. Well, uh, just let him know I called to check on him. Also if you could tell him that Floof misses him, I know he'd appreciate that."

"Alright, dude, sure," said Kenny. "Nice to meet you, I guess. See ya."

Kenny hung up without waiting for a goodbye from Stan. He knew it was a dick thing to do, but he had suddenly realized that as the possessor of Craig's unlocked phone, he could do some snooping for his boy Tweek.

Kenny hadn't looked through the phone for more than a moment when he abruptly stopped. He ran his tongue over his teeth. Tweek needed to see this.

Kenny walked through the venue with purpose. He asked the nearest roadie where the rest of the band had gone, and was pointed in the direction of the dressing room.

Tweek jumped out of his seat when Kenny burst in without warning.

"Jesus Christ! What the fuck, Kenny!" he shrieked.

Token and Jimmy stared at Kenny from the couch where they were lounging. Clyde coughed and forced down the granola bar he'd been eating. He looked at Kenny angrily and reiterated Tweek's sentiment.

"Yeah, Kenny, what the fuck?"

"You'll never guess what I found outside," said Kenny. He moved over to where Tweek was sitting and crouched down next to him, handing him the phone.

"A phone. Wow. Definitely worth scaring the shit out of me," Tweek said sarcastically.

"No, dude. Take a look at it." Kenny handed the phone to Tweek.

Tweek swiped the phone open and his eyes widened. "No. No. No no no."

"What? What is it?" asked Jimmy.

"Our dear Tweek is looking at a chat log from Grindr. The phone belongs to one Craig Tucker." Kenny turned back to Tweek. "I hate to say it, but it looks like he's just not that into you, buddy, because he is definitely gay, or at least bi, and last night, he was actively looking for dick."


	8. Chapter 8

An eerie silence fell over the room. No one knew what to say. Tweek had never been in a situation like this before. It sounded cocky, but it was true. He was only ever turned down by straight men, and even then he still sometimes managed to seal the deal. Whether it was because of his appearance, his profession, or his moderate fame around the Greater Denver area, Tweek was not accustomed to the idea of "he's just not that into you".

Tweek stared at the phone screen. He continued to read the conversation Craig had had with this so-called WrestleChamp99, his face blank.

Then, a twitch.

It was small at first—a blink-and-you'll-miss-it sort of movement at the corner of his mouth. The next one was bigger, at the corner of his left eye. The third one caused his entire left eye to shut. The band held their breath, wondering when Mount Tweek was going to explode.

" _Ngh_ , it's fine. It's fine!" said Tweek. "Really! It's totally fine! I get that not everyone is going to be attracted to me, that's fine, that's normal! It's cool. I'm cool with it!"

Silence followed.

"Really?" Clyde broke the silence, like an idiot.

"Totally! I'm a big boy, I can— _ngh—_ handle a little rejection!" Sporadic physical tics appeared throughout Tweek's face as he talked. His breathing was getting faster, and his friends could tell his arms were beginning to shake. "Damn, what you guys must think of me if you don't think I can't be normal around Craig after this. I'm a motherfucking professional! In fact, I'm going to go bring him his phone back right now and congratulate him!"

Tweek stood up and made a hard walk for the dressing room door. Kenny eyed Craig's phone still lying on the chair where Tweek had been sitting. He looked back up to see Tweek disappear into the hallway, the door swinging shut in his wake.

The four men sat in silence. They heard the door to the adjacent dressing room open and slam closed. Then, a gut-wrenching scream. Clyde cringed.

Token sighed. "At least he's still in the building," said Token. "The last thing I'd want to do is run around Boise looking for him. Wendy would never let us live it down."

"He's such a bad liar," said Kenny, shaking his head. He picked up Craig's phone and stuffed it into his pocket. "I'll give it back to Craig later. I'm the one who found it, after all."

"So...I fucked up, huh?" Clyde said quietly.

Token got up from the couch and walked over to put his arm around Clyde. "Eh, not really. You know how Tweek gets. He tries to hide his anxiety until it spills over and he has a full-blown panic attack. Then to cope, he hides in his room for several hours."

"Yeah, I know that. But do we _have_ several hours for him to recover from this? What if he's not ready to come out by show time? Or what if he strains his voice screaming? Or what if he's exhausted and too tired to perform?! Oh god, I _did_ fuck this up!"

"Nope nope nope!" Kenny said, running over to Clyde and Token. "We can't have you spiraling out into a panic attack, too!" Kenny held out his hands on either side of Clyde's face and gently slapped his cheeks. "How about we tune up and jam?"

Clyde sniffed and wiped away the tears from his eyes. "Yeah, okay."

Jimmy hoisted himself up on his crutches and joined his band brothers. "Hey, no matter what happens to Tweek t-tonight, we'll st-still sound great," he laughed.

* * *

Tweek crumpled to the ground when he was done screaming. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them. It felt like all of the air in his lungs had been used up when he screamed. His heart was pounding against his rib cage like it was trying to fight its way out. He gently rocked back and forth, trying to calm his trembling.

 _"No, it's not fucking fine, Clyde!"_ he thought. _"It's not fucking fine at all!"_

So much for calming down.

 _"I feel embarrassed and humiliated and angry and jealous and somehow also horny as fuck because I'm thinking about him hooking up with this guy but then the jealousy kicks back in and I'm depressed and angry! Angry at me! Angry at him! I was all over him last night and the least he could've done was tell me to go the fuck away, that he didn't want my dick, he wanted some wrestledick!"_

Tweek gently fell over onto the floor, still hugging his knees to his chest. The feeling of the carpeting against his cheek felt nice—scratchy and worn down, but still nice. The tactile sensation began to help him pull himself back to reality. He wasn't going crazy. He wasn't going to die. He was going to be alright.

An hour passed. When Tweek finally began to feel human again, he got up off the floor and dusted himself off. His hands were still shaking a bit, but he knew how to get rid of that. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a cigarette and his lighter. Once it was finally lit, he inhaled deeply and felt himself instantly relax. He knew he was probably going to have to quit someday in order to take better care of his voice, but right now, cigarettes were a little piece of heaven.

He laughed to himself as he exhaled. If Wendy knew he was smoking in here, she would have his head…

…head…

…getting head…

…giving head…

…Craig probably gave head last night…

…Tweek would have liked to watch that...

Fuck.

Tweek realized he'd made himself hard letting his mind wander to sex. His mind often wandered to sex on its own. He tried to ignore the tightness in his skinny jeans, but his stubborn mind wouldn't allow it. He hastily unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, pulled them down to his mid-thigh, and sat down bare-assed on the leather couch. Just one round wouldn't hurt, right?

* * *

"Okay, that's the last of the speakers, Butters. What else do you need me to do?"

"Gosh, Craig! I'm so thankful for the help, but I think we can take it from here. I don't want to take you away from your job, too."

"Point," Craig said with a soft laugh. "The band's bound to be here by now, right?"

"You didn't see them come in earlier?"

"What? No, I didn't…"

"Well they did. Go hang with out them! It's okay, really! You still need to get to know them better, right?"

"Thanks, Butters." Craig gave him a small wave as he walked away to search for the dressing room.

After being pointed in several different directions by various venue staff, Craig finally found himself in front of a door with a piece of masking tape on it with handwriting that read _Humble Folx_. Craig knocked, waiting for a response. He was a profession, dammit—at least he kept telling himself that. He didn't want to simply barge into the band's room without permission.

Clyde answered the door. "Craig! Come on in, buddy!"

Craig entered to find the members scattered around the room with their instruments in tow.

"We were just about to jam while we hurry up and wait. Stay and hang with us!" said Clyde, pointing to a seat next to his guitar.

"Where's Tweek? Is he doing vocal warm-ups somewhere else?" asked Craig.

The other band members shared uneasy looks amongst themselves.

"Is he in the bathroom?"

Kenny sighed. "He's hiding in the other dressing room. He's not really feeling well right now...and you should probably avoid him for a while because—"

Craig frowned, interrupting Kenny. "I was warned about this, but I didn't realize it was this bad. Is this what he does every time there's an interview? This _isn't_ even an interview! I just wanted to hang out with you guys before the show and get to know you better. I can't believe he'd refuse to hang out casually, too. Damn…"

Kenny and Token shared a quick, knowing glance. What Craig didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Besides, if Tweek found out that they had told him _why_ he was having a panic attack and hiding, he'd eat their faces.

"Yup, that's it," said Kenny. "This is what he does if he thinks he might be interviewed. I mean, shit, you saw how he acted at lunch the other day when you tried to ask him an easy question."

"Tweek is…delicate in a lot of ways," explained Token. "He's a spitfire on stage, but at his core, he struggles with a lot of anxiety, especially around people he doesn't know very well."

"I'm _trying_ to get to know him!" said Craig.

"I know you are, but…" Token tried to figure out the right way to get Craig to understand. "Tweek is kinda like a cat you just adopted that had been abused by its previous family. You need to take things slow, hold out your hand, and just wait until he comes to you on his own terms."

Craig opened his mouth to protest, but Token held up his hand.

"I know it sounds like a lot, but just try to trust me on this. We've all known him for a long time, and none of us became friends with him overnight. Give him time, cut him some slack, and he'll come around. Promise."

Kenny, Clyde, and Jimmy nodded in agreement.

Craig crossed his arms and sighed. "Okay. I can try that."

* * *

Craig relaxed as the band began to play. He'd never been able to be in such an intimate performance with a live band. Even though he was technically at work, it was still an exciting experience.

As the afternoon wore on, they played around with some new music they were workshopping in between fielding questions from Craig. If he couldn't spend the time to get to know his main subject right now, he figured he might as well get to know the supporting cast. He showed Token what he's written about him the previous night. It was the first time he'd seen Token smile so hard that his teeth showed.

When the band broke for dinner, Craig joined Jimmy on the couch. He'd decided that he was going to be the subject of tonight's writing. Jimmy was happy to oblige.

"So...the keyboard. A classic rock instrument, but not what most people would answer with if asked to name a rock band instrument. How'd you get started with it?" asked Craig.

"The way that a lot of people st-start—my parents signed me up for piano lessons when I was six. I st-started begrudgingly, but it t-turned out I was pretty good at it and learned quickly. It gave me something that I could use to impress girls," he said with a laugh. "The only problem was that I could never use the p-p-pedals with my legs being the way they are. Eventually when I was in junior high, my p-parents bought me a really expensive keyboard for Christmas, so I didn't have to deal with that."

"That was really nice of them."

"Yeah. I'm lucky that my p-parents are really supportive—even of my comedy."

"Comedy?" asked Craig.

"Yeah. My other passion in life is comedy, but I am not built for st-stand-up."

Jimmy paused with his mouth open in a smile, waiting for Craig's reaction. Craig gave him a quiet, nervous laugh.

"I ended up combining my two loves the summer before high school. I st-started writing comedic songs and recording them to po-post online. Think the music of Jonathan Coulton meets the lyrics of The Lonely Island. People seemed to enjoy the music…but the problem was that it's really hard to get good comedic timing with lyrics when you have a st-stutter."

"That sucks, dude," said Craig, eloquent as ever.

"Sure did. I kept writing and playing, but didn't bother with the recordings. I just decided to keep it to myself. I have a pretty thick skin and a p-positi-tive attitude, but even the best of us can still be worn down by cruel comments on the internet. Anyway, to make a long st-story short, I eventually saw the flyers the other guys had put up around town, and that's when I asked them if they wanted someone on keys. And here we are now."

Jimmy smiled and looked over at the rest of the band, laughing and chatting with full mouths of food on the other side of the room.

"Do you still write?" asked Craig.

"Somet-times, when inspiration strikes. It's still a creative outlet for my comedy. My dream is that we get famous enough where I could convince Tweek to sing one of my songs while I accompany him. Like when we're famous enough where fans would be so excited about us that they'd let us play whatever at a concert and they'd still love it."

"So, like, in five, ten years, if you're still relevant as a band," said Craig with a playful smirk.

"Yeah, exactly," Jimmy laughed. "I know it's a long shot, but—" He looked over at his friends. "—I believe in us."

* * *

Tweek barely flinched at the sound of the door being unlocked. He was in his happy place, and nothing, not even whatever or whoever was behind that door, could take him out of it. …Maybe if it was a gang of ninja vampires. God, he hoped it wasn't ninja vampires.

The locking mechanism clicked and the doorknob turned. The door opened a fraction—just enough so he could clearly hear the voice on the other side.

"No, I don't know why he locked himself in here. Yes. Yes, thank you, sir."

The door creaked open slowly. Wendy walked into the dark room, unsure as to what sort of mess she was going to find inside. Her nostrils were hit with the strong smell of marijuana, and as her eyes adjusted, she could make out the faint glow of a joint in Tweek's hand. She felt around on the wall for the light switch. Tweek squinted his eyes and screeched when the bright light flooded the room.

"I know that hurts, but... I'm sorry, not sorry, because I am pissed off at you right now," she said.

"Why? What did I do?" he asked.

Wendy crossed her arms and stared at him. He was lying on the ground, on his back, with his legs bent and resting on the leather sofa. His joint was nearly finished. He took one final hit, coughing after holding it in a little too long.

"You're smart enough to know why I'm pissed."

"I'm sorry I locked myself in here," he said softly, trying not to kill his vibe. "I learned some upsetting info that triggered a panic attack, and it was the first thing I could think of doing."

"I know you struggle with GAD and panic disorder, but I don't think Craig having sex with someone who isn't you really warrants this kind of reaction, Tweek."

"Wait, how do you know about that?!"

"Token mentioned it when he texted me that you had locked yourself in here four hours ago and you would respond to him." She sighed and placed her hands on her hips. "And it's my privilege as band manager to check to see if you're still alive."

Tweek sighed. "I hope you know I'm not trying to be difficult on purpose. I hate this just as much as you guys do. I'd literally give up everything I've been working for since high school to be a person who doesn't feel like they're going crazy nearly every waking moment."

Wendy relaxed. As frustrated as he made her sometimes, she knew that Tweek was only reacting with the coping mechanisms he knew worked for him. She just wished that he had better ones.

"And," Tweek continued, "the logical part of me fucking knows that it's none of my business who hot journalist Craig fucks, but that part is rarely at the wheel."

He threw his legs off of the sofa and rolled over onto his side before getting up off the floor.

"If it makes up for it, I wrote while I was in here." He grabbed a pile of loose papers off the floor and held them up. "I think there's about five songs worth of material here."

"And are those five songs metaphors for how badly you want to sleep with our reporter?" Wendy raised an eyebrow.

"I plead the fifth."

* * *

Craig had heard Wendy say she was about to lure Tweek out of the other dressing room, so he had left the backstage area immediately. He didn't want to risk Tweek seeing him and running back inside the room, worried that he was getting tricked into being interviewed. Craig couldn't help his presence while on tour, but he could lessen the impact it had on the performances themselves. He wasn't about to be the cause of the concert getting cancelled because the lead singer wouldn't come out.

He wandered around the main floor of the venue for a while, trying to find the best angle to take photos without crowding the stage. When he heard the guys start to file onto the stage for a quick soundcheck, he disappeared outside. There was already a small crowd of people waiting for the doors to open. They briefly cheered when the door opened, but their cheers turned into groans and boos when they realized he wasn't there to let them in.

When the door opened again nearly thirty minutes later, a venue employee quickly ushered Craig back inside before propping open the door for the fans to start filing in. Craig claimed his spot on the floor as people began filling in around him until the building was stuffed to capacity. Craig was glad that he had scoped out a spot earlier. He could barely move right now as it was—if he had to try to find a better spot on top of that, it would been nearly impossible.

The floor lights dimmed and the stage lights rose. The opening band completed their set with a mixed reaction from the audience. Craig actually found that he enjoyed their sound better than the previous night, but his feelings on them being a poor match for Humble Folx were reinforced.

Humble Folx's set started the same way it had in Salt Lake City. High energy from Clyde and Token as they started "New Kind of High", then an opening speech from Tweek that led into "Gimme". They were sexy, suggestive songs about love and desire, and the primarily female audience in The Knitting Factory tonight was eating it up.

Craig watched Tweek after he finished up another song later in the set. It was obvious that he could feel that horny fangirl energy, too. He walked over to Clyde and whispered something in his ear. Clyde nodded and moved around the stage passing on Tweek's message to Token, Jimmy, and Kenny.

"All right, Boise, so here's the deal," Tweek began, returning to the front of the stage. "We started out as a couple of young assholes dicking around in our parents' garages pretending to be a band." He laughed and ran a hand through his messy green hair. "That means that we have a fuckton of covers in our back pocket. There's a reason that 'The Chain' was our first single, you know? Anyway, since we only have one album of original material, and no one likes to pay for a concert that's only an hour long, I hope you don't mind if we play a few of our favorite covers."

The audience gave a warm response.

"That's what I was hoping to hear." Tweek flashed that charismatic performance grin of his. "This song is an old one, but a classic, and I think it fits the energy of the room here tonight. See if you agree."

Tweek put the microphone back on the stand as Clyde started the opening guitar riff to Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love". Token joined in on bass, and Tweek followed with the vocals.

 _"…Way down inside...honey, you_ need _it,_

 _I'm gonna give you my love,_

 _I'm gonna give you my love…"_

The fangirls lost their shit as Tweek turned the sex appeal up to eleven. He took advantage of the long jam session that fit neatly between the second and third verse of the song, slowly unbuttoning his shirt while holding intense eye contact with various fans in the audience. Craig held his breath, afraid that Tweek would accidentally make eye contact with him while he was undressing. If that happened, Craig would be done for. If he were to get a boner while sardined into the concert crowd...well, he didn't want to even think of the embarrassing repercussions.

Once Tweek's shirt was fully open—and his nipple piercings fully exposed, Craig noted—he motioned off-stage. A moment later, a roadie tossed him a large water bottle. He cracked it open and chugged down about a third of it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he was done.

Craig watched the gears in Tweek's head turn as he looked down at the remaining water in the bottle, then back at the audience. He lifted the water in the air and turned it upside-down over his head. The water cascaded down over him in slow motion—at least that's how Craig perceived it.

Tweek threw the bottle off-stage and bit his lip, grinning at the audience. The venue was loving it. He shook some of the water from his hair, then removed his soaked shirt and balled it up to throw into the crowd. The fans began to shift around as some tried to get into a better position to catch the wet shirt. Tweek let it fly right before he picked up the song at the third verse to close it out.

Craig felt his body lurch forward as some fans behind him pushed forward through the crowd, trying to reach the shirt. He was knocked around between several people, losing his balance, and right when he finally regained it, another fan accidentally stepped on his foot.

Craig grit his teeth and held back a scream. He didn't want to draw any more attention to himself. Pissed off and in pain, he pushed his way through the crowd to the side of the floor, where there was a little more breathing room, but not as good of a view of the stage. As much as he wanted to leave the show right now and head back to the van—or maybe an urgent care center—he was a damn professional. He was going to stay on the side and take photos of the rest of the concert—but he sure as hell wasn't going to enjoy it.

* * *

When the band finally finished up their last song of the night, Craig turned and left as fast as his injured foot would let him. The air outside was much cooler than inside the venue. It felt like Craig could breathe again. He limped his way through the parking lot to where he had left the van. Thankfully, he hadn't given Wendy the keys back yet, so he was able to unlock the back and lie down in between boxes of merch.

This sucked. This wasn't anything like he had imagined it would be. Touring with an up-and-coming band was supposed to be fun, exciting, and a rare opportunity for him as a music journalist. So far, this tour had only been awkward, embarrassing, and highly unproductive. It may have only been a few days, but the faster this interview could be written and published, the better it would be for the band. A cover story piece on them _at the end_ of their tour wouldn't be as effective, even if it still spread their name and might increase sales of their album.

Craig rubbed his hands over his face. _Tweek._ He was so frustrating, and he probably didn't even realize it. Well...he must've realized it wasn't helpful to Craig's job that he avoided talking to him unless he was drunk—but he couldn't know how that affected Craig on a personal level. He _definitely_ couldn't know how his live performances were affecting Craig. It's not like he was laying on the sex and innuendo to mess with Craig. It was just part of his performance, part of his band persona. It was to work his budding fanbase into an excited lather. Craig knew that—but fuck if it didn't make his job that much more difficult, having to try to keep the image of a wet, half naked Tweek singing about sex out of his mind at all times.

Craig sighed. He sat up and removed his shoe from the injured foot. Time to survey the damage. No torn skin or blood, thankfully, but it looked like he was going to end up with a pretty mean bruise. His foot was still tender as he slid the shoe back on.

He jolted when his phone started to ring. Maybe it was Wendy looking for him. He pulled his phone out of his pants and swiped it open.

...Cartman?

"What do you want, Cartman?" he asked.

"First off, I don't know how many times I've asked you— _very nicely_ , I might add—-to call me Eric. Secondly, you sounded like a dick answering the phone. You're touring the country on the magazine's dime, you should sound happier."

Craig rolled his eyes.

"Stop rolling your eyes, Craig," said Eric.

"How did you know? You didn't somehow plant cameras around me, did you?"

Eric audibly sighed over the phone. "You're the perfect person to interview this crazy guy—you're as paranoid as he is. No, I'm very talented, but I'm not _that_ talented. I just know you, and you roll your eyes at any sort of authoritah."

"Why did you call, Eric?"

"I'm looking for an update on how it's going."

Craig made a low rumbling noise in his throat.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" asked Eric. "Have you gotten the interview yet or not?"

"Uh...no."

"It's been three days and you still haven't gotten the interview? What's wrong with you? What are you wasting time for?"

"Things are...complicated," said Craig.

Silence on the other end.

"Are you going to elaborate on that?" Eric finally asked.

"I know you said that the vocalist was notoriously absent from any interviews, but I didn't think it was going to be this hard to get it when he asked for me by name. Tweek doesn't really open up. Unless he's drunk, but I am _not_ getting an interview while he's drunk. Also things are awkward between him and me because I saw him getting his dick sucked the first night I got to Denver—"

"Wait, what?"

"—and I've been so hard up lately that I found it really sexy and now I fantasize about him and I really just want to fuck him, but I can't because that's not why I'm here."

"I have so many questions right now. Never mind, it doesn't matter. Just fuck him already! Whatever it takes to get the interview. Screw being professional."

Craig rubbed his temples. He really didn't need this right now. Cartman was the most unprofessional person in the entire world, and he was not about to take advice from him.

"Look, _Eric_. I'm going to keep doing what I'm doing. I'm not going to risk my journalistic integrity by sleeping with my subject, no matter how badly I want to. I have the entire tour to get this interview, so you can back off. I've been tweeting like I'm supposed to, and I've been posting the nightly journal for the website. I've been doing everything I was asked to do, so you have no reason to tell me to change what I'm doing. Goodbye."

Craig threw his phone against one of the cardboard boxes next to him. It made a dull thud and fell down onto his lap. He sighed. What a shitty day. He was angry at Tweek, he was angry at Cartman, and honestly, he was mostly angry at himself. He just wanted the day to end.

His stomach made a loud gurgling noise as he felt a dull ache in his abdomen. It _had_ been a while since he'd eaten. Sleep was going to have to wait.

Craig decided to go for a walk to search out some place he could get a cheap meal. He limped at first, but as he continued to walk, the pain began to lessen and he was able to walk closer to normal. The night air was warm and dry. Craig was used to the often oppressive humid heat of New York City in the summer. He welcomed the change.

After about fifteen minutes of walking past restaurants that were about to close or only open for the bar, Craig finally found a twenty-four hour diner. He was seated and ordered quickly, not wanting to spend too much time out. After last night, he wanted to make sure he had enough sleep, just in case he had to drive the merch van again in the morning.

As he waited for his food, he people watched. One of his favorite things to do back in New York was get food with Stan in the middle of the night and observe the creatures of the night. From college students pulling an all-nighter to sex workers, you could find all sorts. Sometimes he and Stan would even make a game out of it, sketching out bingo cards before they went out. Craig laughed to himself. He didn't think he would, especially this soon, but he was missing Stan. He'd have to remember to give him a call in the morning.

Craig's eyes fell onto a group of people dressed in all black sitting in a booth at the other end of the diner. The longer he stared, the more he began to think they looked familiar. Finally it dawned on him—it was Humble Folx's opening act.

His food came, and as he ate, he continued to watch them. It appeared that they were barely talking to each other, and not because they were eating a meal. Rather, they were drinking coffee and staring off into the middle distance. That was it. They did nothing else during the whole time that Craig ate and paid for his meal.

He stood up and headed toward the exit, but at the last minute, decided to continue towards the goth band. As the person covering the tour, he felt that it was appropriate that he introduce himself. They'd probably appreciate getting some media attention as well, even if their sound was very different from that of Humble Folx.

As he moved closer, they looked up from their mugs in unison. Craig felt a jolt rush through his body—the death glare they gave him was intense. He took a deep breath and closed the gap between him and their booth.

"H-hi, my name is Craig, and I'm a writer for Treble and Bass magazine. I'm following the Humble Folx tour all summer, and I happened to see you from across the diner, so I figured I'd come say hello."

The four band members continued to stare at him, unblinking. Craig wasn't even sure if they were breathing. They seemed so weird. How did they even get this gig anyway?"

The tall, slender goth, who Craig recognized as the vocalist, was the first to blink. He picked up his mug of coffee and took a sip. The other three followed suit, like they were deferring to him about when to drink.

"We know who you are," he said.

"Oh. Okay, cool." Craig stood in front of their booth, watching them sip their black coffee. The sounds of the diner filled the empty space around them. He desperately wanted to leave, but his feet wouldn't let him.

"Why are you still standing here?" asked the tall goth.

"Uh, sorry."

Why were they so intimidating?

"Uh, just let me know if you ever want to do an interview for the magazine," said Craig. "I have to write a nightly piece for the website, and I'd be happy to give you some media attention."

"Fuck no." The guitarist goth, notable for the intense red streak in his otherwise pitch black hair, put his mug down and looked up at Craig with disdain. "Fuck the media and their fake bullshit. They're just a bunch of posers."

Craig was taken aback. "Uh, yeah. Okay. We don't have to do an interview. If you ever change your mind, though, just let me know."

He was about to turn tail and leave the diner as fast as he could, but the band's synth keyboard player spoke up with a loaded question.

"If you're following the Humble Fucks, then why aren't you out with them at some Barbie doll conformist club?" she asked.

She knew immediately that she had made a huge mistake when she saw the change in Craig's face.

"I'm not out with them because shit is weird between me and the singer." Craig continued, explaining said 'weird shit' between him and Tweek. He also included his recent conversation with Cartman. "So yeah...that's my tale of woe."

"I'm sorry I fucking asked," said the female goth.

"You should listen to that Cartman guy," said the tall goth. "Stop being such a pussy." The others nodded in agreement.

"But what about my professional integrity?"

The youngest band member, who had been silent for the entire time Craig had been with them, finally spoke up. "Integrity is a fool's errand, and professionalism is a fucking joke written in the blood of the poor by the capitalist fat cat posers who run the world."

Craig opened and closed his mouth, unable to think of how to respond.

"Look," the female goth added, "stop whining like a little bitch and just fuck him and get it over with. Then you can focus on your actual job."

Craig nodded slowly. "Right. Thanks for the advice. I'm going to go get some sleep. Goodnight."

"Sleep is for conformists," he heard them say as he left the diner.

First Cartman, now the goth band. Was the universe actually trying to convince him that it was a good idea for him to fuck Tweek? Would it actually lend itself to the interview process by making an intimate connection with him, helping him open up to Craig? Maybe…

...but it also ran the risk of Tweek only seeing Craig as another conquest. He might not take him seriously anymore, and maybe he could dismiss him from the tour altogether, sending Craig back to New York in shame. Was it worth the risk to clear his mind of these horny thoughts?

Craig arrived back at The Knitting Factory parking lot. No sign of the band. He climbed into the back of the van once again, closing and locking the door behind him. What a shitty night. He curled up in the back of the van and fell asleep. Maybe tomorrow would be better.


End file.
